Call Me Moriarty
by ProfessorScrooge
Summary: Jasmine Potter came out of her abusive childhood somewhat changed, showing a few sociopathic tendencies. When she lays eyes upon the wizarding world she sees oppurtunity, and decides to take up the mantle of her favourite villain. The balance of power shifts as the chessboard is shaken up by a new player. But what of her foil, Miss Granger? AU,OOC, F/F, Fem!HarryxHermione pairing
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay, so I'm a Sherlock fan, and when reading some Sherlock/HP crossovers I stumbled across a work by Esama on Archive of our own named 'Business' that heavily intrigued me (which is well worth a read, and is probably better than anything I'm going to put out). So yeah, admittedly the basic idea and inspiration was theirs and I'm sort of stealing it and trying to work it into one story rather than a twelve thousand word one-shot, and giving it my own little twist and ideas. Beware, gender bending and majorly OOC characters ahead.**

 **Also, I will cite Wesley from Daredevil (Netflix series) as another inspiration, I really loved him as a charismatic, cultured villain, and I was sad when he died as I felt he made a better villain than the Kingpin himself. There is a lot to be said for the quiet malice of the elegant, cultured villain in an immaculate suit threatening you in a totally calm voice. (To be fair, I feel they did that whole thing wrong, and that they shouldn't have revealed Kingpin's face until the penultimate episode or so, and shouldn't have attempted to humanise him with the romance and tragic backstory. I like my villains to be villainous, but I digress.)**

 **07/11/15: As of currently, there are four and a half chapters of this, and I've kinda run out of steam. I'll definitely be posting the first four, and maybe the unfinished or finished fifth at some point.**

 **Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING, property of respective owners etc.**

Call Me Moriarty

"Stupid, idiotic, pathetic, cringe worthy," the ravenette muttered as she flicked through a book, its leather bound exterior creaking on each page turn.

"What are you mumbling about?" came a high toned, cold voice from across the room. The girl looked up to see her 'aunt' standing by the doorway, her nose upturned as she spied the distinctly magical looking book the girl held.

"Oh, just reading about how the wizarding world is full of racist, bigoted, oh, and sexist arseholes," she replied with an innocent smile that glinted with something else. The woman in front of her scowled at the mention of the Wizarding world, and then lightened slightly as it was described in such a way.

"Yes, well, don't slouch, girl!" she commanded for lack of anything better to say.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," the black haired girl replied, looking back down at her book. "And the _name_ , is _Jasmine_ ," she added under her breath.

Honestly, though her life at the Dursley's had improved greatly since she had discovered a book on laws in the library at school and black-mailed her extended family into treating her better and mainly leaving her alone, they still weren't exactly on cordial terms. That hadn't been helped when Jasmine had received a letter, to a school of magic of all things. The huge, bumbling gamekeeper Rubeus Hagrid had come over a few days later to introduce her to the wizarding world, and thus far she was not that impressed.

They were decades, perhaps even a century behind as far as technology was concerned, their system of governing was practically ancient, the blatant racism in their society was overwhelmingly clear, and their population was tiny. Added to all of that, it seemed like the majority of wizards were idiots.

And Jasmine couldn't be happier, as it stood as a ripe and golden opportunity. The magical world was a consortium of opportunities, and on top of it all, she had the most important thing in the world; a great big pile of cash to exploit them with. When first she had looked upon her vault, her emerald green eyes had sparkled as she overlooked the piles of shining gold, silver and bronze.

Now, it should be stressed, Jasmine was not a normal eleven year old. No, years of neglect and hatred for her 'family' had twisted her into quite a cold and opportunistic person who used her natural intelligence to achieve her goals. She, of course, knew this very well, and cared not one jot.

' _The time has come, to move on, to many other things, the playground's done, its queen soon gone, and a world's new options bring_ ,' she thought to herself as she curled up on the sofa. ' _The time to plan, the time to begin, to let the madness of revolution in_.'

Upon that thought, the girl stepped up off the sofa. ' _No time like the present, after all. So much to do, so little time_.' She quickly strolled out of the house, and stepped down the driveway of Number Four, Privet Drive. Palming her wand-a beautifully artful piece made of ebony, thirteen inches long and curved to a slightly rounded end, etched with silver in Celtic knots up its length, and with a thestral hair core. It was of course, her second wand, and purchased when she doubled back to Knockturn after leaving Hagrid at the Leaky Cauldron for a drink after the Gringotts ride, her first wand, and the one registered to her, was holly with a phoenix feather core, bought from Ollivander's. She paused at the pavement; looking around the street for any witnesses before flicking the ebony stick high up in the air.

All of a sudden, there was a bang, and she resisted the urge to flinch as a tall, midnight purple bus flashed into existence.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus," drawled a slack jawed youth leaning from the doorway, who yawned before continuing, "emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard, where would you like to go?"

"Diagon Alley, please," she replied simply.

"Three sickles, or for five you can go for our luxury-."

"Here's three, plus a little extra to forget I was ever here," she interrupted, handing over eight silver coins. The man blinked, looking up at her, and then back down at the coins for a few moments before what she said finally reached his brain.

"Right, please have a seat, Miss Smith," he said, putting three coins inside the pouch on his belt, while slipping the other five into his pocket.

Jasmine nodded once, and moved to sit in the corner of the bus behind the stairs going up, where she was most shrouded in shadow.

 _###################################################################################################_

Jasmine smiled with satisfaction as she stepped out of Twilfitt and Tattings'. Those within had at first looked at her disapprovingly, what with her second hand muggle clothing, but their attitude had quickly changed at the first glitter of gold. Now of course, she cut quite the figure.

Starting from her feet, she had simple, smart black shoes with an inch of heel, shined to a sheen, and her legs were clad in opaque, black tights. A simple, pencil skirt came down to just above her knees, in black of course. Her shirt was white however, but naturally the long tie and suit jacket were as midnight dark as her hair, although the latter was lined in a jade green on the inside. Finally, it was all overlaid in a long, black trench coat dipping to below her knees, and with silver buttons along the front, and under her wrists.

With her long, matching dark hair, thin stance, pale face, high cheekbones and piercing eyes of emerald green, she cut quite the figure, despite her age and stature. Indeed, to any onlooker, she looked a few years older than her actual age. Looking around, she made a beeline for the entrance to Knockturn Alley, ignoring the shady persons clamouring around the area, and moving too quickly for them to get a good view of her and get any ideas.

She paused only once, before the entrance to an enchanter's, to don an unadorned, plain white mask she had picked up nearby in muggle London at a fancy dress shop. The bell rang above the door as she stepped inside, idly perusing the glass cabinets in the dingy shop and the jewellery and such held within.

"'Ere, what'chu want?" came the voice of the beefy man behind the counter, "you're a bit young to be in 'ere."

"I'm here," she replied calmly, examining a black metal dagger, with a hilt made to look like wrapping ivy with Celtic Knots, "to get some items enchanted, and I suppose whatever else you might be able to interest me in."

"I don't deal with kids," he said gruffly.

"Ah, my dear Mr Wreath, gold is still gold, is it not?" she smiled under her mask as the man shifted, frowning a little. Ignoring his discomfort, she withdrew two separate cases from her pockets, and opened them side by side on the counter to reveal two pairs of reflective aviators, one with black lenses, the other dark green, and both with silver frames. "I need these enchanted, with glamours, notice-me-not charms, obscuration charms, voice alteration, night vision, forgetfulness charms, etcetera. The works. I do not want my face to be visible to any degree, and I want anyone looking at it to immediately forget any details. And of course, my voice to be obscured to that of….say a young adult aristocrat, maybe around eighteen to twenty." With exaggerated care, she withdrew a pouch from one of her many pockets which she opened to show the shimmer of gold within, "how much?"

The shopkeeper licked his lips, obviously eyeing the gold hungrily, his thoughts as to her age long since out the window.

"Hundred galleons," he said after a moment, and Jasmine gave a grin, knowing it was likely an extortionately high price.

"Seventy," she said in return.

"You kidding me? That kind of enchantment on those tiny things, ninety," he countered.

"Alright then, you throw in that dagger over there, and you forget I was ever here, and we'll call it eighty. Otherwise, I walk out that door right now," her mask helped now as he scrutinised her visage, trying to determine how serious she was. She knew the deal was still likely massively overpriced, but much like earlier today, such expenses were worthwhile. In the short term anyway.

"Deal," he eventually, grudgingly stated.

 _###################################################################################################_

As Jasmine stepped from the enchantment shop, she removed her mask and slipped on her black pair of aviators with no small sense of satisfaction once again. She had even, for an extra twenty galleons, been able to get a few extra items. Firstly, her buttons on the her coat and suit jacket were enchanted to make her appear taller, and with a slightly pronounced bust, making her appear older, and so with her face obscured, she now could pass for an-if small-adult. Secondly, she had acquired a silver necklace inset with a green gem, which enshrouded her face in shadows if at all possible, and obscured it in light if not, and changed her voice to that of a cultured, middle aged man. Ideas were already building in her head of exactly how she would be doing things, and all the pieces were falling into place. She even had a little idea of how she could add a bit of theatrics to things, but that would have to wait.

For now, she made her way to the next stop on her list; the infamous Borgin and Burke's. Once again, on her entrance an old fashioned bell chimed, and once again she took to browsing the numerous mildly dark artefacts on display while allowing the store-owner-a grubby, weasel looking man-to gauge her for himself.

"Ah, you have a good eye, madam," he said eventually as she was looking at a wizened, practically skeletal hand, "the Hand of Glory. Put a candle in it, and it gives light only to the holder. Best friend of plunderers and thieves."

"An interesting item, for sure," Jasmine replied, picking it up as she walked over to the counter. Borgin frowned as he tried to concentrate on her face in an attempt to pick out the details. "However that would be a purchase for myself, and I'm here on business for my employer."

"And who would that be?" he replied with a frown.

"His name is…best not spoken lightly, he takes anonymity as a powerful tool, hence my own visage," she gestured to her obscured face.

"What is it he needs then?" Borgin inquired curiously, a tentative look in his eye.

"Several things…" Jasmine began, moving slowly to keep him attentive, "firstly books of a certain nature not found in your average bookshop, and would not be put on display due to certain…shall we say narrow minded ideals towards them. My employer believes in the freedom of all knowledge, not merely that which others would presume to be proper."

"If I did have any books of that sort, which I'm not saying I do," the man was cautious to cover his tracks she noted, likely due to the possibility of her being from the Ministry. "Then I would perhaps have standing orders with, ah, illustrious clients who have a tendency to desire similar things."

"Well, I would say my employer is illustrious himself, and fully capable of paying for the privilege of being at the top of that list, I'm sure. Not to mention that there are...benefits to being on his good side," she flashed him a smile, and he nodded slowly.

"I may be open to something of that nature," he relented.

"Excellent. Now then, the other things I require are the services of two people. Someone capable of acquiring things, discretely. And another who can, ah, shall we say, deal with problems. Permanently," She looked hard at the wiry man for a moment before continuing, "are you capable of contacting persons such as these?"

"I may be able to," Borgin said slowly, hesitantly. After all, she had just asked him about getting ahold of a dodgy dealer and a killer.

"Perfect, he requires that they receive these," from her voluminous pockets, she retrieved two slim wooden boxes, of fine quality wood lined in silver on the edges, and a stylised 'M' present on the top face. Borgin eyed them appraisingly as she slid them across the counter, noting the fine craftsmanship. "Of course, you will be duly compensated a finder's fee."

"Let's talk business," he replied, leaning across the counter.

 _###################################################################################################_

All in all, Jasmine felt, her day had been incredibly successful. Of course, her aunt and uncle had been none too happy about her disappearance for several hours, and the clothes she turned up in; in fact Vernon had done his prune impression, something she had seen many times in her life. Usually accompanied by pain.

' _I wonder if there are any magical methods to remove scars?_ ' she mused for a moment, before busying herself once again with her clothing in preparation for her first appointment of the night. As opposed to her fashionable, female clothing of earlier in the day, she was now garbed in a long, black wizarding cloak lined in dark green along the edges, and keeping her face enshrouded in shadow. Around her neck, hung the silver pendant to change her voice, and she made sure the only light in the room would be from behind her.

Finally deciding all was ready at a few minutes before nine o'clock, she sat down in a chair by her desk, setting a small rectangular mirror on said desk, angled so it caught her mainly on a side profile.

"Perfect," she said aloud, still finding it odd to hear the aristocratic, male and adult voice emerging from her mouth. The other one wasn't so bad, it was just a slightly older version of herself, but this was disconcerting.

Settling herself down, she looked at the mirror and waited. An exact duplicate of the mirror was present in one of the boxes she had given Borgin, along with a pouch containing fifty galleons.

At approximately nine, the image in the mirror changed, shifting to show a grizzled, scarred and weathered face, with flinty, black eyes, yellowed teeth and gun-metal grey hair.

"Ah, Mr Greyback, I presume?" she stated, inclining her head slightly,

"Yeah, and who am I speaking to exactly? I don't normally work with all this cloak and dagger stuff," he replied gruffly.

"Ah, well, I find it conductive to not be recognised lest I be betrayed. In time, perhaps, you will have earned more trust, but for the moment you may call me 'M,'" she stated. "Now," she continued before he could protest to anything, "I presume you are aware as to why I sought your services?"

"Yeah, and if you think fifty pieces of gold is enough to buy that, you're off your rocker," Greyback said with a scowl.

"The fifty gold? Oh, that isn't your payment, that was merely to persuade you that I was serious and to agree to this conversation," she assured, and he leaned back seemingly a bit more calm at her words. "No, no. I-and let's not beat about the bush here-I wish to hire you to murder a man. A muggle specifically. His name is unimportant, but his address is Number 4, Privet Drive, Surrey, and I need his death to seem accidental to the muggle authorities. You will be paid a sum of seven hundred and fifty galleons when the job is done. Do you understand?"

"How will I be paid?" he questioned, "that can't be done through a mirror."

"You will be paid in gold by another person under my employ, you will be informed of a time and date to meet her after the man is dead," she answered.

"But not you."

"I don't conduct business that way, Mr Greyback."

 _###################################################################################################_

"Ah, Mr Scabior. I am told you are capable of…procuring things?" Jasmine greeted her second mirror caller of the night, on a separate mirror of course.

"Yeah, that's right. Who are you exactly?" the long haired man inquired curiously, leaning around to try and get a better look through the mirror. He had scraggly brown hair, and a pierced ear, while his appearance looked like an old-fashioned pirate's attempt at cleaning up.

"You may call me 'M' for now, you may be worthy of more at a later date."

"Okay, I can deal with anonymous, not got a problem with that as long as the gold's good," he replied, a Londoner accent showing through a little in his words.

"Naturally."

"So what's the job then?"

"Well, to start I require some items that are…difficult to get ahold of. Firstly, a supply of arsenic," Jasmine already had the rings to put the poison into, she really felt like a good old fashioned villain. "Secondly, and you may need to go to America for this; I require two, Kahr PM45 pistols, in silver with a wooden handle."

"Okay, I have a contact in the colonies, I can handle that," Scabior replied.

"Good. And finally," she paused a moment before continuing, "I require information; about Albus Dumbledore, and Lord Voldemort."

 _###################################################################################################_

The next morning, Jasmine Potter disappeared from Privet Drive, and Eleanor Jarvis checked in to a room at the Leaky Cauldron.

After a day of acquiring items and ordering others, the ravenette stood with a black umbrella clasped in hand, staring at the lights of Covent Garden at this time of night. The heavy rain pattered on her fabric screen, but her green-lensed gaze never faltered. A green tie, too, she wore, playing up the Slytherin theme. After all, that was what magicals associated cunning and ambition with.

Finally, after a long period of waiting, the crack of apparition sounded, she turned her head to the side alley from which it emerged. Carefully, the feral looking man known as Fenrir Greyback emerged, looking around before bee lining towards her.

"Mr Greyback, I presume?" she stated as he approached, his worn, slightly tattered clothes soaked by rain.

"Yeah, guessing you're his go-between then," he replied gruffly.

"After a fashion," she replied, "my name is Irene Adler."

"You're lying," Greyback said after a moment, and Jasmine smiled in return.

"My birth name isn't important, I abandoned it when I came to work for our employer, and he gave me a new one, suited to my position," she replied quickly.

"And what position is that exactly?"

"I'm his…Jarvis for lack of a better term. In-house staff who deals with everything he need not bother with or cannot do personally. I am whatever he needs me to be," she reached into one of her many pockets at this point, drawing a small sack from within, "and right now, that is the person responsible for paying you, Mr Greyback. This contains twelve-hundred and fifty galleons."

"Twelve fifty? I thought the job was for seven-fifty," Greyback said confusedly, taking the sack and hefting it a little as if to gauge the weight of gold within.

"The five hundred is an advance on the next job, which," she produced an envelope with a flourish, sealed in green wax with her stylised 'M' logo. "the details of, are within here." The man took the envelope carefully, turning it over to look at the seal.

"Who's the target?" he questioned.

"Mr Greyback, I have no idea," Fenrir raised an eyebrow at that comment, and Jasmine shrugged before explaining, "he believes in…'compartmentalisation,' I believe he called it. No one can betray or ruin his plans as no-one knows all of them, aside from him of course."

"Of course," he echoed, putting the envelope carefully in the pocket of his weathered coat. "Could you perhaps tell him, that I have several…friends, in a similar situation to myself, and with similar skills who would appreciate some work." He smiled, nastily, his crooked and yellowed teeth showing.

"I am sure he will be interested," Jasmine returned the smile, her perfect, white teeth showing. Though most features were obscured by the various charms on her clothing, she had specified that her predatory smile be untouched. That would be the only feature anyone she met like this would ever recall. She was fond of theatrics, after all.

 _###################################################################################################_

"Well done, Mr Scabior, well done indeed," Jasmine praised the man as she looked down the sights of one of the pair of pistols he had acquired. Carefully, she placed it back down in the black foam of the aluminium case beside its twin, snapping it decisively shut.

"I had to get 'em through a wizarding dealer, so they're also slightly enchanted," the long haired man added.

"Oh?" Jasmine said, her interest peaking, "what enchants?"

"Reduce recoil, silencin', never need cleanin', and for lightness," he rattled off in return, "I have to admit, I didn't expect a pretty lil' lady like you to be needing something like that."

"Oh, and how do you know they're for me?"

"It's small, a ladies' gun, and it matches your coat," he pointed at her silver adornments.

"Well done, Mr Scabior, _he_ requested that I carry them. The arsenic, too, is for me," she was even wearing a few silver rings on her left hand, with a fake green gem ready to be filled with powder, "however the information contained within here is not for my eyes." She slid the large, brown envelopes over to herself, noting that they were unmarked apart from the initials 'A.D' and 'L.V'.

"I could tell you, darling," Scabior leaned over the table a little, "we could perhaps catch a drink and I'd tell you all about it, and how I managed to get ahold of that info."

"Mr Scabior," Jasmine began drily as she stood up, looking down at him through her green lenses, "I am a woman to whom you have just given a supply of deadly poison and two concealed weapons. Do I really seem the kind of lady to proposition?" He looked slightly ill at that revelation, and Jasmine allowed herself to laugh as she walked away.

##########################################################################################

"You're late, Mr Scabior," Jasmine stated as the man approached their table. She was seated in the corner, at the most shadow-covered table in 'The Hag's Eye,' a pub at the disreputable end of Knockturn alley.

A couple of Greyback's 'friends,' read, fellow werewolves-that had been an interesting revelation; that she had a werewolf pack under her command-were scattered around the bar, inconspicuously providing protection. Fenrir himself was sat opposite her, with a glass of fire whiskey from the bottle on the table in hand. Her own glass was, naturally, untouched on the table. She _was_ still eleven after all.

"Sorry, got held up bartering with a fence," the man apologised, quickly sitting down.

"No matter, now we're all here, we can begin," she replied, pulling the black leather briefcase from beside her chair onto the table. With a crack, she opened the silver clasps, and spun the case so her fellows could see what was within. Three individual letters with their names written in green ink rested on top of three, square, lacquered wooden boxes. "Interesting…" Jasmine murmured, snagging the envelope with 'Irene Adler' written upon it.

From her left sleeve, she pulled her artful, Celtic dagger with its black blade, and used it to open the letter, leaving the customary green seal intact. Intently, she set about reading the instructions on the parchment, even though she knew exactly what they said, since they were written by her own hand after all. Signed at the bottom was the name of the mastermind villain that the magical world would soon come to fear… 'James Moriarty.'

"At least we finally get to know who we're working for," Greyback muttered, "Moriarty…"

"Is still not a name to be bandied about or spoken of too publically," Jasmine reprimanded. "Secrecy is a powerful spell, but can all too easily be broken."

"Yeah, but these plans seem a bit public," Scabior commented, eyes skimming his parchment.

"Well, we do require some kind of public front, though it seems we three will be the face of it, not our employer," Jasmine agreed.

"The Diogenes Club? And Madame Rosa's bathhouse? He's trying to appeal to the posh and the rough," Scabior said. He was right of course.

Her plans for the Diogenes Club were for a place where the rich could socialise, and be seen as the cream of society, all without saying a word, for silence would be mandatory. And naturally, there would be certain services available from the club's staff, making allowances for illicit substances or carnal needs to be sated, all from a respectable place of business. And of course, contact to the wider applications of Moriarty's growing network, be it an assassin required, or perhaps an item to be acquired, all would be available. For a price. And the membership for the club, would of course be at a hefty fee. It needed to be to make up for the chunk of the Potter fortune she was investing in it.

Madame Rosa's bathhouse would serve a similar function in the opposite environment. By day, functioning as a legitimate bathhouse, not that that part mattered much. Behind the baths, private rooms and private entertainment of a sexual nature would be available, and below in the expansive basement, a fully functioning bar where shady persons could meet, be hired, and such and so forth. She even had plans for perhaps a few gambling rings downstairs, since there was little of that nature in the wizarding world, she'd have to start small with gambling ventures. But, smaller things could grow and make a tidy profit one day.

"So it would seem," she eventually said, drawn from the reverie of her plans. "I'll be running business administration and financial backing for the projects apparently. He also says there are gifts of some sort in the boxes." She lifted the box her envelope had rested under from the briefcase, and opened it to reveal the treasure within. "Aren't you a beauty…" she muttered, holding the silver pocket watch on its long chain. It was artfully intricate in design, and of course had an 'M' engraved into the top in lustrous gold. Upon flicking it open, the watch face itself was simplistic, marked with Roman numerals instead of numbers, and with a mirror on the interior of the top. A small note fell out as it was opened, reading in green script 'Simply say a name.'

Scabior and Greyback opened their own boxes to be greeted by a similar sight. The rogue-ish fence took his in hand, marvelling at the design, but the werewolf didn't touch his, scowling slightly.

"Don't worry, Mr Greyback, I believe this is white gold, or perhaps platinum," Jasmine remarked. Both were true of course, the main body being white gold, while the chain was platinum. "My question would be as to the meaning of the note."

"Irene Adler," said Scabior, who was looking at his watch intently. Immediately, Jasmine's own heated up in her hands. She pressed a finger against the mirror on the interior, glad that one of the others had figured it out rather than her having to explain it. A few moments after her digit had touched the surface, the image of the rogue-ish man appeared, and of course her own face was displayed on his. "It's for communication."

"How ingenious," Jasmine added, looking intently at Scabior through the watch before tapping the mirror and closing the piece of jewellery, which ended the connection. "Well, this has been interesting, but I must go. I have things to do, and these new commands add to them. I shall see you two anon, since we now have a discrete method of communication. Until then." With that, she stood and made for the door of the dingy bar.

Of course, the watches were more for her benefit than theirs, as today was August 31st, and tomorrow she would be on the train to Hogwarts. Being separated by the space of half the length of Britain would be a pain, but she was certain she could surmise a solution soon. After all, with magic to help, the possibilities were simply endless.

 **A/N: And here I decided to end it, five thousand words for a chapter is nice and rounded and at the top bracket of what I normally upload. Anyway, please review and let me know if you like the idea, or if you have a suggestion, or something you think should/could be improved. I appreciate both encouragement and criticism equally.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** **A point that always got to me about Fem-Harry stories, that the prophecy details '** _ **he**_ **shall have the power the Dark Lord knows not' and all that, so if you change that to a she, to fit Fem-Harry, then Neville Longbottom is no longer applicable. Hence, I personally prefer to change Neville as well, as you will see in this chapter.**

 **Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING, property of respective owners etc.**

Chapter Two

Jasmine flicked her cards in hand with a flourish as she sat alone in her compartment on the Hogwarts Express. Unlike most on the platform outside, she was already dressed in the regulation uniform; grey jumper, white shirt, black skirt and tights, black robes; all unmarked of course, before she was sorted. Though she knew exactly where she was headed.

She performed another trick absent-mindedly, allowing the cards to form a ladder between her two hands against the flow of gravity, the inner card twisting to turn towards her.

The magician.

A fun little card, deception, cunning, trickery and intelligence. She felt it suited her.

Tarot cards were interesting once magic became involved. They had little but ambient magic, fuelling themselves off of the wielder, leeching per se when the user desired an actual prediction. Of course, that required skill with divination…or just the ability to channel one's magic through the cards.

Jasmine had the latter.

Of course, they weren't just used like that. A skilled dealer knew the cards they were shuffling, the location of each individual one, which made pulling one out for dramatic effect easy.

She was distracted in a complex shuffling movement by the door of the compartment opening to reveal a red-haired boy, with a smudge of dirt on his nose, and fairly worn looking clothing. In-fact, everything on him seemed second hand, and his expression pegged him as lonely but tired. ' _Youngest child-no-youngest boy in a large family_ ,' she deduced, ' _probably a developing inferiority complex, and an overbearing mother judging by his collar_.'

"You mind if I take a seat?" he brokered. Jasmine didn't respond, instead looking down as the deck proffered a card into her hand. Flipping it over she examined the up-side.

The fool.

"Sorry, seat's taken by someone else," she stated without looking back up, reshuffling her deck before the boy could see the card.

"Oh, right…I'll be going then," he replied, sliding the door closed behind him.

Jasmine pondered for a moment whether he was too stupid or unobservant to notice the lack of any luggage-including her own, admittedly, which was shrunk and in her pocket-and the fact that there was space for at least three other people in the compartment, five in a pinch. Or perhaps he was merely intelligent enough to know where he wasn't wanted. By his expression, she favoured the former.

At eleven AM precisely, the train slowly moved out of the station, and began the so far largely uneventful journey to Hogwarts. The first interruption was only as they passed into the Scottish countryside, a bushy haired girl followed by a nervous looking brunette opened the door to her compartment.

"Have you seen a toad anywhere? Nadia here's lost one," the bushy haired girl asked in an authoritative tone. **  
**

"No," Jasmine replied, flicking her ever moving cards around to present one face-up to her. With a frown she regarded the face of the High Priestess. Interesting.

"Are those tarot cards?" the girl questioned, peering over to try and see what Jasmine was looking at.

"Yes," she answered, automatically shuffling the cards so that she would not see. With renewed interest, she set her eye on the girl.

She was already changed into pristine Hogwarts robes, exactly to convention, her blue eyes were sharp with considerable intellect, her hands were those of a frequent reader and comprehensive note-taker, and her bearing belied those who normally got their way through sheer perseverance if nothing else. She would most likely grow to be an intellectual, a librarian or a teacher perhaps.

"I read about those in Unfogging the Future, I thought the prospect of Divination seemed rather woolly, if you ask me," she continued, in one breath. Over-eager it seemed.

"Perhaps," she replied, taking back to practicing her artistic shuffling.

"You don't say much, do you?" Jasmine smiled at the bushy haired girl's statement.

"I don't say many words, there's a difference," as she gazed up unblinkingly with her emerald eyes, the brunette held her gaze unwaveringly.

"See you around then, Jasmine Potter," the girl said in parting, before stepping out and closing the door behind her.

Jasmine sat there, blinking for a moment, her hands no longer moving as she considered the girl. How had she known? She hadn't given her name, and had taken care to cover up her infamous scar with makeup and strategically placed hair.

' _Oh, she's one to watch out for_ ,' she considered as she returned to shuffling. ' _Definitely interesting_.'

##########################################################################################

Unlike most of the first years, Jasmine did not flinch when ghosts entered the hall, merely arching a single black eyebrow at the spectres. Theatrics were her thing after all, and she recognised the obvious play at getting a reaction from the new students.

"Hey, you, you're Jasmine Potter, aren't you?" knowing the voice was directed at her, Jasmine turned on the spot to see a boy with blond hair slicked back, with aristocratic features, fine clothing, and an upturned smirk of the arrogant. "My name's Draco Malfoy," the way he put emphasis on the 'Malfoy' said a lot about his thoughts as to the family, fully buying in to the pureblood superiority no doubt, and believing himself better than everyone else by extension. Jasmine really didn't need a card to work out his personality-not that she ever needed them, they were just quicker. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there." The blond ponce outstretched a hand to be shaken.

She didn't take it, for a moment, instead flicking a hand out to slip a card from her sleeve. Glancing down so that only she could see it, she saw an upside-down knight of cups. Predictable, merely confirming what she had already deduced. That he was a self-serving, cunning, arrogant arsehole in the making. Duplicity was his custom.

"What's that?" he asked curiously, staring at the hidden card when she didn't take his hand.

"King of wands," she lied, with a quick gesture and sleight of hand displaying said-same card, "the country gentleman, belying significant heritage and power."

"Ah, of course," he smiled, visibly straightening and puffing himself up to an even greater degree. The lie was calculated, she didn't want him as her enemy after all, not when his father was such a powerful, wealthy and all around useful man.

And she wanted that man under her thumb, and this could be the first step.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Malfoy," she stated formally, holding out her pale hand to be shaken. He took it, shaking once, and she gave him a perfectly practiced fake smile. They were distracted from any more 'pleasantries' as the door behind Jasmine creaked open, and a woman emerged clad in formal black teaching robes.

"Alright first years, gather round," she stated with a Scottish lilt to her voice. She had black hair, done up in a severe bun, and lined through with streaks of grey that went with her slightly wrinkled face, and small glasses. She seemed every inch the clichéd strict teacher. With a half-interested wave of her hand, a card slipped from her sleeve. The queen of swords, most often associated with widows, mourning, sadness, and sterility. Sounded about right.

Jasmine only half-paid attention to the speech she gave about a house being a family, knowing already about the house system, and already knowing she could care less for the other students in her year. She was simply here to learn, and perhaps make a few connections to help her alter ego.

When they eventually filed into the Great Hall, there were various 'oohs' and 'aahs' at the much vaunted, enchanted ceiling. And before them all sat a hat, on a three legged stool.

So much for a grand, historical artefact.

One by one, the first years were sorted. Jasmine paid little attention to the persons, or the clapping or cheering (depending on the house they were sorted into.) The only person she noted with any interest was Hermione Granger-a name for the authoritative witch at last-being sorted into Gryffindor. An intriguing choice for such a clear academic.

' _Oh there's more to you than at first seems, isn't there Miss Granger?_ ' flashed through her mind as she followed the bushy haired girl with her eyes as she sat down at the table clad in red and gold.

The rest of the sorting blurred past until…

"Potter, Jasmine," called McGonagall, and the hall went silent. With calm ease and nonchalance, Jasmine parted herself from the thinned crowd, and moved to sit on the stool. When the deputy headmistress placed the hat on her head, it fell slightly lopsidedly, just showing her emerald eyes under its floppy brim.

" _Hrrrmmmm, well this makes things awkward,_ " sounded the male voice in her head, " _would you mind lowering your occlumency barriers so I can sort you, Miss Potter?_ "

" _Yes, I would_ ," she thought clearly, pushing the words outside of her mindscape, " _my mind is my own, thank-you, and I would permit no-one else to enter it."_

" _An educated view-point to take I suppose_ ," mused the hat, " _such suspicious nature though, and the need to protect secrets. I sense Slytherin may be a place to which you are suited_."

" _Ravenclaw, if you please_ ," she replied, " _I am-primarily-an academic, and I have no wish to face the squabbles and rivalries accorded to Slytherin house, not to mention the idiotic ideas on purity of blood_." That was mostly true. After all, the man after whom she modelled herself was a scholar-a professor even-and it was true that she had no wish to deal with the infamous Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry. Of course, the other big reason she did not mention, was the preconceptions about Slytherin. It was well known as a place of dark wizards, the cunning and ambitious (as well as the stupid blood purists, but that was a cultural side effect), so much so to the extent where she emphasised and hinted at Slytherin colours in both her Adler and Moriarty personas. Ravenclaw placed her simply as an academic, nose in a book, beyond suspicion. A place where she could pursue whatever she so wished without distraction. The perfect cover.

" _Well, I suppose with that sound reasoning, we can ignore any other flaws, better be_ , RAVENCLAW," the last word, the hat shouted out into the Great Hall, leading to actual cheering from the prior more subdued Ravenclaw table.

With grace, she swept the oversized hat off of her head, and walked over to the Ravenclaw table, where space was quickly made amid the other new first years.

##########################################################################################

The first week of school was largely uneventful, though not particularly impressive. Jasmine had hoped for more in the way of education, but she supposed this was what she would have to do with.

Firstly, there were no subjects like the sciences, mathematics, languages, etcetera, apparently anything muggle was swept into an optional, third year course. History of Magic was a joke, taught by a ghost, who theoretically should be a good representative of history, but was instead a droning fool who didn't even have half his facts right. Flying was relatively fine, but it really didn't interest her much. Astronomy was years behind the muggle world, and most of what they did could be done with an electronic telescope automatically. Herbology was rudimentary and simplistic as far as the syllabus went, though the teacher somewhat made up for it with her enthusiasm, but Jasmine still did not see the need for three lessons a week. Defence against the Dark Arts was taught by a stuttering fool, and she seemingly had a headache every time she was in the room. She also felt there was something about the professor she was missing, but she just couldn't concentrate properly around him to surmise much. Charms was useful, and her head of house had apparently once been a duelling master, so he knew his stuff, but they had to move abominably slowly as they had to wait for the whole class to achieve a charm before moving on to the next. Transfiguration was similar, and Jasmine could see many applications for the subject, but they still had to move as slowly as the Gryffindors they were paired with, who of course McGonagall favoured. And finally, there was the class she had actually been looking forward to; potions.

She sat currently on a bench second row from the front, purposefully with no partner by her side as she had placed a mild repelling charm on the chair. She was tentatively looking forward to potion brewing, as it seemed a subject with so many uses for the skilled and precise. Her only problem was apparently Snape, the professor, hated anyone outside of Slytherin house, primarily Gryffindor, but he apparently rarely favoured those of the blue and bronze house.

Speaking of the man, he swept into the room precisely one minute after the class was due to start, doubtless a perfectly timed and calculated entrance with his robes billowing.

"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making," he declared as he stalked up to his lectern, "however, for those select few who possess the predisposition, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death." He left his sentence hanging ominously, allowing the obviously pre-practiced speech to sink in before taking the register. He paused at one name however;

"Ah, Miss Potter…our new _celebrity_ ," he sneered, as if disgusted by the word. "Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" He directed the question directly at her, and his expression obviously said that he didn't expect her to be capable of answering.

"Draught of the Living Death, sir," she replied dutifully. Luckily of course, she knew her course books back to front-her mind cataloguing and storing everything she read for later use. And she even had reading of a wider, more general field.

Snape, however, scowled as she answered his question correctly.

"Correct…what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"Only what country it may be found in-due to slightly different variations of local species and local culture-and by those variations, how long it will take to kill you." He was testing her, she knew, and she may as well put on a good performance.

"As far as potions are concerned, the plants have the same potency, barring poisons," the man replied, "tell me, where would I find a bezoar?" A triumphant glint showed in his eyes, not believing she would know of the stone found in the stomach of a goat. Naturally, of course, she did, though only because she had researched a wide range of poisons and their antidotes, both for her own use and to prepare when they were used against her.

"In my right pocket," she answered, truthfully in-fact. Of all antidotes, a bezoar was the first that one should try, as it functioned as a broad, general curative.

"You have a bezoar on you?" questioned Snape incredulously.

"Well, we are about to, as you said, delve into the subtle and exact art of potion-making, and as complete novices, many of whom may have never used a cauldron before, which makes the likelihood of mistakes not just possible, but probable. I felt it a good idea to carry something in case of such issues being dangerous," ' _and in case someone tries to kill me_ ,' she added silently. She was well aware of her fame-and what a bloody annoyance it was to someone who would much rather stay anonymous.

Snape responded to her small speech by straightening up, a look of grudging respect in his eyes.

"Two points to Ravenclaw for the good sense to prepare, and two points for respecting potions as something that is indeed dangerous," he stated, pulling his own wrinkled stone from a pocket, before turning to look at the rest of the class, "well? Why aren't you writing this down?!"

A mad scramble began for writing implements, but Jasmine noted carefully the calculating look the professor sent her. It seemed that she had changed some expectations he had had of her.

##########################################################################################

"Have there been any problems?" Jasmine inquired to the image of Scabior upon her watch-mirror.

"Apart from the usual, just one," the man replied, "planning officer causing issues over building the club. Think he's after a ministry standard bribe, but I didn't want to try without your permission, since you're the one handling finances."

"Have one of Greyback's men _persuade_ him, or if that fails, eliminate him," Jasmine replied, the words being changed to Irene Adler's cutting frostiness.

##########################################################################################

It was curiosity that eventually brought Jasmine to the third floor corridor after hours, roughly a week after Halloween. It was obvious that Dumbledore was doing some manipulating, since if one really wanted to close off an area, the last thing you do is tell the student populace to stay away. No, if you want it closed you make up something about maintenance or the like.

But that wasn't the only thing not adding up.

The troll on Halloween had obviously been a distraction, planted by Professor Quirrel. When Jasmine was able to concentrate, all the information about him screamed that something was off; the stutter was totally fake; the leap from muggle studies to defence for seemingly no reason; the fact he seemed terrified of his own subject; his turban was weird, as he had no connection to Arabian culture, and the garlic would seem to be there to hide something else, if her reasoning was right, perhaps a disfigurement?

Of course, all this led to the question of what was going on in this game of chess, and Jasmine felt it all revolved with what was behind this door.

With care, and clasping the hand of glory with its flickering candle carefully, she whispered an unlocking charm on the door with her ebony wand, smiling as it opened, it felt good to use the wand far better suited to her than the holly and phoenix feather one, that was _Jasmine Potter's_ wand. For now, she was Irene Adler, glasses present on her face if not the rest of her normal vestments.

Slowly, she eased open the door, and froze at the sight within. Now _that_ she hadn't expected, and she took a good long look at the giant three-headed dog beyond the door as it snuffled in its sleep, smelling her presence most likely as it quickly began to wake. She quickly closed and re-locked the door, before strolling away, musing over what she saw. The purpose now was obvious, the dog was guarding something, as it sat on a trapdoor. That something, was likely a thing Quirrel desired, and so the headmaster was luring him into a trap.

She was so distracted by her musing, that she almost missed the scraggly looking cat that mewled at her presence. Almost.

With a quickly muttered spell, the cat was frozen for a period of exactly ten seconds, and she had ten seconds to get away before Filch turned up. Plenty of time.

She dashed down a corridor, and bee-lined into a random, abandoned old classroom, closing the door quietly behind herself. She waited for a long moment, pressed to the door and listening for the tell-tale signs of the caretaker to move away.

When they did, she let out a breath she didn't even realise she had been holding. As the tension left her body, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and slowly turned-feeling like the person about to die in a horror film-to regard the room she found herself in.

All the desks and chairs were stacked up against the walls, and covered in age old dust and cobwebs. But standing in the centre of the room, was a large mirror, lined and edged in gold filigree. Cautiously, Jasmine walked over to it, gazing over it.

As she stepped into its field of reflection, she froze, staring at the image contained.

A woman stood, front and centre, her features achingly familiar from the playfully manic, emerald green eyes sparkling, to the clothing almost exactly the same as her Irene Adler disguise. The differences were that they were tooled for a fairly pronounced bust, taller stature with a longer coat and slightly shorter skirt to show off lissom, black clad legs ending in tall high heels.

But it was the face, that mad, malice-filled expression and the superior smirk as black lips played with the tip of a pair of green aviators held in her hand as jet-black hair tumbled down across her shoulders and down her back.

This was, most obviously her, as Irene Adler, all grown up. Jasmine's eyes scanned quickly up and down the mirror, reading the inscription; 'Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.'

"I show not your face but your heart's desire…" Jasmine muttered, deciphering the words that were simply spelled backwards…as if viewed in a mirror. "Interesting I suppose," she added, gazing across her grown up twin's voluptuous form, "I guess even I am marred by the desires of vanity, but damn I look good."

##########################################################################################

Discerning the nature of the three headed dog proved to be a relatively easy task. Research detailed the dog as a hell-hound, a real creature summoned from the otherwhere and having made its way into muggle mythology as Cerberus. Talking to Hagrid made the oaf slip out the name of Nicholas Flamel, and a bit of quick research in the library allowed her to deduce that the item being guarded was the Philosopher's Stone, an item of some alchemical power that could transfigure base metals into gold and produce the elixir of life.

Of course, there was something else which distracted her through all this.

When first she went to find books on exotic creatures, many were already booked out. To one Hermione Granger. And later, the girl had eyed her across the great hall, a knowing look in those blue eyes.

And of course, later on, when she had taken out a book detailing the work of Nicholas Flamel, she received a notice that she was to return it in a given period as a reservation had been applied to it. She didn't need to guess as to who reserved the tome.

Her duelling with Granger even continued into lessons, where it had become almost a game to compete on grades and points won for houses. Jasmine had originally thought that perhaps she should fade into the background, be unremarkable so as to avoid drawing any attention. But this girl just seemed to ruffle her… and besides, she was already famous as the 'Girl-Who-Lived' and all that nonsense, she may as well be respected for achievements she actually made herself.

And so they played a game, and when tests were handed back, or lists published, two names always stood out. One from Ravenclaw, the other a Gryffindor.

And so, Jasmine wasn't surprised when sitting on a windowsill in a high, out of the way tower, reading a book detailing information on who her possible new employees were for her two separate businesses-charmed of course to appear as a second year potions textbook-when Hermione Granger strolled up and leaned against the wall beside the nook, only surprisingly without her friend Nadia.

"So," Granger began, "why do you think Quirrel wants the Philosopher's Stone?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jasmine replied innocently, not even looking up from the list of potential brothel madams.

"Oh, come now. We both know we can't lie to each other," Granger replied, and Jasmine let out a slight smile.

"Perhaps _you_ can't. True skill lies in weaving individual threads into a tapestry so complex and containing snippets of truth so as to be indistinguishable from the truth," she replied off-handedly, "sadly, our dear professor lacks that ability. Or, more accurately…"

"His possessor," Hermione finished.

"Mm, care to share how you came to that conclusion? Out of professional curiosity of course," Granger gave a bark of laughter at the statement.

"Not able to do it yourself?" she said with a slightly mocking tone.

"I merely wish to hear your trail of reasoning," she replied innocuously, casually turning the page in her book to view the current building costs for Madame Rosa's.

"The eyes, the mannerisms, the occasional bouts of hosting a conversation with himself in private-referring to the other person as his master-, the zoning out, his pale complexion and sweating. The turban is hiding some sort of visible sign of the possession, and he uses garlic to mask the smell of something-most likely his own decaying flesh as it breaks down from the magic whatever spectre is clinging to him is using to stay attached," she eventually replied, "Dumbledore seems to be aware that someone is after the stone, and has laid a trap for them, but only Snape seems to know that its Quirrel who's after it, and has confronted him a few times already-he got injured by the dog on Halloween trying to protect it. I don't think either realise about the possession, and that Snape thinks Quirrel will lead him to an employer or some such." Jasmine nodded a few times, taking in the information, and the assumptions made-she hadn't given much detail of her findings, just a summary, which wasn't quite what she had wanted but would do.

"Not bad, you're even close. However Dumbledore and Snape are aware of who is after the stone, just not that he is currently clinging to Quirrel like a limpet to a rock. He is not a spectre, and he is not unintelligent though, his connection is just decaying, as," Jasmine finally turned to look at the other girl, "Quirrel is dying, his host body cannot sustain the parasite leeching off him, hence, why he has been pursuing Unicorn blood in the forest-you should really pay more attention to your housemates, Ronald and Malfoy's detention in the Forbidden Forest nearly brought them into contact with him. It's just a hold-over measure though. Quirrel isn't the one who wants the stone; the person clinging to him does, so as to gain a new body of his own."

"A new one? As if he had one before…" Hermione mused, "you're suggesting the leech is a ghost of some sort, aren't you?"

"Depends on your definition of the term, but he's someone who 'died,' yes," she replied, "in-fact I'm rather surprised you can't figure out the last few details, it's rather easy to surmise. Go on, impress me." Jasmine looked directly into Granger's eyes, practically able to see the gears grinding behind those sharp, sapphire orbs. "I'm sure you'll figure it out in time, darling," Jasmine said as she stood up from her seat, brushing a hand surreptitiously against the stone. "Until then, ciao."

As she stalked off, she was mentally putting her plan into place as well. If she was going to enact it, it needed to be now. It wouldn't take long for Granger to work out the one person Dumbledore would risk so much to capture. Especially with the little clue she'd left on the sill. A single card from her deck.

Death.

##########################################################################################

Honestly, Jasmine was slightly disappointed as she walked into the final chamber.

'Fluffy' had been simple of course, this she had already known, just a bit of music put him to sleep and she was able to move down to the next room. The Devil's Snare was a joke; it was only mildly dangerous, and with the ridiculous number of Herbology classes given in Hogwarts' curriculum, she knew perfectly well that a simple 'lumos' from the ebony wand clasped in her hand would be enough to make the plant shrivel away from her, and let her past. And despite her lack of interest in the sport, she was a natural on a broomstick-most likely due to her father's genes-and getting the winged key was a breeze, with a shield spell deflecting the rest. The giant chess set was laughably easy, the opponent acting as an unworthy adversary and being forced into check within two dozen moves. The troll, of course, was nothing, and a dark cutting charm she had learnt in one of the books Borgin had supplied was enough to pierce its thick hide. And finally, Snape's logic puzzle, which she supposed almost made sense, since most magicals completely lacked common sense, but was still all too elementary for her formidable mind.

And so now, she strode into what looked like a disused auditorium or lecture hall, at the base of which rested a familiar mirror.

Slowly, Jasmine descended the steps; wary of what she knew now, after a little research, was the Mirror of Erised-a powerful magical artefact. As she reached a point roughly two metres from the mirror, it changed from her reflection into a different scene. Jasmine blinked at the image, hooking a finger over her green aviators to look at it with her own eyes, not believing what she saw.

"That's new," she muttered, regarding the image with incredulity and interest.

Her body was much the same as before-beautiful, dressed in her typical black clothing, mischievous and mad glint in her emerald eyes-but this time, the aviators-identical to the ones she wore now in reality-were rested halfway down her counterpart's nose, rather than the tip being between her dark lips.

No, instead, those lips were busy tangling in a battle with those of one grown-up Hermione Granger. The grown woman was dressed in a dark grey great-coat, open and flapping to reveal the navy scarf around her neck, overlaying a simple white shirt and casual black jacket. A matching blue skirt, black tights, and casual black boots completed the outfit, along with a complete lack of make-up or jewellery, and long curly hair tumbling down her back. She wasn't exactly a model, but definitely pretty, and with a surprisingly athletic body shape that Jasmine found herself appreciating.

Almost in time with the girl catching herself admiring the fake image's rear, and stopping herself, the mirror image of a grown up Jasmine pulled away from her lover, winked at the real her while pulling an uncut red gem from her pocket, before placing it back and returning to snogging the hell out of a reciprocating Hermione.

Jasmine barely noticed the sudden gain of weight in her pocket, so entranced was she by the image, primarily by the way their mouths battled constantly-black against natural red-for dominance, fighting a little war every second as hands roved over each other's bodies.

Was _this_ really her heart's desire?

That left a lot of awkward things to think about. Not least what the hell was wrong with her to be thinking of this at eleven, after all she did know her brain was well overdeveloped and mature for her age, but not _this_ mature.

But she couldn't remain forever-and she did remember the warning of the books she had read, of those too entranced by what was fictitious and not real. Saying it to herself didn't stop the image behind her eyelids. Haunting her. Taunting her.

With deliberate care, she took the small, wooden box from her pocket that had once held her watch, and placed it down on the floor in front of the mirror, facing so that the person approaching would see the engraved 'M.'

It was enchanted, and filled with tarot cards of her own design, having said same 'M' seal on the rear side. When the box was opened, dozens upon dozens of copies of The Fool would explode into the air and rain down upon the person who opened it, and inside, would rest a single card unmoved, facing up. The Magician. After all, she had to leave a calling card, and it kept with her 'M' theme.

 **A/N: So yeah, since Jasmine is both Moriarty and Irene Adler, we end up with this pairing. This chapter also takes bits from Missy in recent Doctor Who (which I'm warming up to again in Capaldi's second series, didn't like the first that much, but the new one is good so far.) Anyway, I may put in the "Traps are my flirting" line at some point. Oh, and the tarot cards, when used they're mostly going to be a device of her insulting or using people, or leaving a little calling card. I just thought it would be a nice, distinctive personal touch, that and I had the opening shuffling scene from 'Now You See Me' on the mind (great film by the way), and I felt it worked since Jasmine is, essentially, an illusionist in this story, managing three distinct characters and creating the illusion that they all exist as separate people.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Your heart might break, but the show goes on.**

 **Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING, property of respective owners etc.**

Chapter Three

Jasmine thoroughly enjoyed the next few days of school. Not two days after her removal of the stone herself, in the middle of the night she received the trigger warning that her little box of tricks had been opened, and Dumbledore looked extremely morose at breakfast the next morning.

Within hours, the faculty all shared similarly worried looks, and Quirrel had up and left. Not before, of course, he could discover a card upon his desk; her own personal version of The Magician, just like the one she left in the box. With an 'M' on the back, and the image slightly altered. The man, instead of being dressed in a white robe overlaid in red, was instead dressed in a black cloak, overlaid in green and hiding the face. The white wand was replaced with a black one, though the infinity symbol above his head remaining. The rest of the picture was blank except for the table, upon which rested a dagger and a crown.

Granger eyed her the next day from across the hall, and Jasmine merely returned the stare with a smirk, and continued to eat her meal while looking over the reports from her holdings. The two businesses were nearly finished and almost ready to open, she really needed to go there in person and see them for herself-her presence, or lack thereof, was being noticed.

Later that day, she was summoned up to the headmaster's office, and Jasmine spent the walk up to the entrance debating how she should approach this. Calm indifference? Offended innocence? Or perhaps that little idea niggling at the back of her mind in order to get ahold of that one thing…

Because that image still haunted her mind, and her sleep.

As she reached the gargoyle guarding the stairs, she paused, finally deciding on a course of action. It might rest a tad on the side of overplaying her hand, but she needed to have it.

"Jasmine Potter to see Professor Dumbledore," she stated to the gargoyle, not bothering with one of the silly passwords of sweet names that Dumbledore pretended to use. Honestly, to anyone who had read Hogwarts: A History, the idea was silly, as it was documented therein that the gargoyle merely relayed messages to the current head of school, which meant the headmaster amused himself by making people stand outside saying the names of various sweets until he felt it time to let them in.

After about thirty seconds of staring resolutely at the statue, the gargoyle jumped aside to show the staircase up to Dumbledore's office. With careful, measured steps, she climbed up the twisting stairway to the heavy oaken door of his office. Without knocking-since effectively, she already had-she pushed open the door.

"You wished to see me, Professor Dumbledore?" she stated innocently as she looked around the eclectic space. Bookshelves, paintings of old heads of school, various odd instruments and knick-knacks the old man had collected, and the man himself seated at his desk, next to which rested a stand upon which his phoenix familiar rested.

"Ah, yes, Miss Potter. Please, take a seat," he gestured at one of the chairs in front of his fine desk, much lower down than what was practically a throne that he resided in. A frown currently marred his troubled face, and his blue eyes were not as sparkling as was his norm. "I am going to be frank, Jasmine. What have you done with the Philosopher's Stone?" His eyes were looking down at her over the top of his glasses, disapprovingly in a clichéd grandfather look that doubtless had managed to guilt-trip many a person in past.

"I don't know what you mean, sir?" she replied innocently, her smile angelic. Tentatively, at the edges of her mind, she felt a prodding of legilimency, and the smile disappeared, "I might remind you sir, that violation of a student's privacy is a serious offence, as detailed by the school rules, and the sanctity of my mind most certainly falls under that jurisdiction." Dumbledore visibly recoiled, clearly surprised at her skill in occlumency.

"Those rules were designed for the students," he said dismissively, not denying that he had attempted to invade her mind.

"Actually they refer to 'All who walk within these hallowed halls' I believe, sir. Isn't that right, Professors?" she addressed the question to the various heads of school in portrait frames behind Dumbledore, several of whom nodded or looked disapprovingly at the current headmaster.

"Miss Potter, this is all beside the point. As is also detailed in the school rules, theft is an incredibly serious offence, and the Ministry may become involved in high-profile cases, which this most certainly is," he replied sternly, attempting to bring the conversation back around to his advantage, he clearly wasn't used to a student speaking back to him so plainly.

"Has the stone been stolen then, sir?" she inquired, once more playing up the innocent act, "why on earth would you suspect me of all people? I'm just a student after all."

"I have been given reason to believe-."

"You mean Miss Granger has given you reason to believe," she interrupted, and by the look on his face she knew it to be true. "Well, I believe, that in a court of law, one girl's opinion-as that is all it is, neither she nor you has any evidence against me-is not enough to incriminate me. But then again, it's not as if that matters, as this will never go to a court."

"And why are you so sure of that, Miss Potter? If you refuse to co-operate, I will be forced to use all the powers at my disposal to ensure that justice proceeds and the stone is returned to its rightful owner," he leaned forward steepling his fingers.

"I am sure, because you can never allow this to become public knowledge. Because if it was to become as such, you would have to admit that you kept an item being sought after by he-who-must-not-be-named in Hogwarts. That you set a trap, specifically designed to lure in the most powerful and feared dark lord of the last half century, in a place filled with the nation's children. And how do you think that will go down?" Dumbledore looked slightly ill at her words, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. He knew just as well as she did that he would not do well if such information were to become public knowledge. "And then, after all of that, you actually let in Voldemort himself for weeks, possessing a man under the posting of Defence against the Dark Arts of all things, now really. The public would crucify you."

"Yes, well, there is no reason for it to become public knowledge," Dumbledore countered weakly.

"Oh there's every reason, I stand to make a great deal of money selling that story to, oh I don't know, Rita Skeeter perhaps? She would pay dearly for such a thing, I'm sure," Dumbledore scowled at her words, giving up any pretence of civility. "But, like all things, there is a price. For my silence, mine is relatively simple."

"And what would that be?" the grandfatherly tone did not extend beyond his voice.

"A certain mirror, that used to be held in an unused classroom on the fourth floor," she responded, enjoying seeing the old man's eyebrows furrow. "That is my price, I want the mirror." She stood at this point, straightening her robes casually, "I expect it to be deposited in my Gringotts vault within twenty four hours, or else I contact Miss Skeeter. Your call." With that said, she turned and walked from the room, leaving a gobsmacked old man who was currently thoroughly readjusting his opinion of one Jasmine Potter.

She allowed herself a triumphant smile as she walked back down the stairs. Victory was a sweet, sweet thing.

########################################################################################

"I need a way out of the school," Jasmine stated, watching as the pair of twins glanced at each other, then at her.

"Now why," George began.

"Would an ickle Ravenclaw firstie," Fred continued.

"Want to sneak out of school?"

"And of course you act as though my brother and I."

"Would know a way to leave undetected."

"What an allegation."

"And completely unfounded."

"Personal business," she stated simply, "and you're the Weasley twins, of course you have a way out."

"Maybe we do."

"Maybe we don't."

"Why would we tell you?"

"Because you love your mischief and mayhem, but such extensive plans as you have require funding," the twins scowled at her statement, likely believing it to be a dig at their family's lack of wealth. "I know you want to start a business, and I also know that you have already started designing a range of products; your mischief making in school is beta-testing." She eyed them carefully, sizing up their reactions to her knowledge. "I'm a Ravenclaw, boys, when I saw the Potter fortune lying around in a vault, I started investing it in businesses, mostly in the muggle world since we have such a favourable exchange rate." That was a lie, as although she had invested in a few muggle enterprises so far, the majority of her money was being spent in the magical world. "And frankly, you're good at what you do, getting what I need in a way out of school is a nice bonus, but I could obtain that myself if I had to. No, I came to you because you are innovators who are able to create interesting things, which will sell."

"What are you proposing," George said slowly, levity gone from the pair.

"Two thousand galleons," she replied, noting how much the pair had to restrain themselves over mentioning that sum of money. "Should be more than enough for you to get off the ground. In exchange, I will receive a twenty percent share of the eventual company you form, and of course access to the passages out of school and perhaps a discount on eventual merchandise; we can work out something formal at a later date."

"How do we know we can trust you?" Fred inquired.

"Because I'm the one with the lower end of the deal, since I'm handing you two grand with nothing but your word and the hope that you make a successful business of it," she pulled a bulging sack from within her robes, containing the exact amount of money she had specified. "But like I said, I'm a Ravenclaw; I'm good at predicting things, and character. You'll keep your word-you're Weasleys, probably one of the few _decent_ pureblood families around-and you have a drive to succeed. So take the money, and go do some cool stuff with it. Apart from anything, I can't wait to see Filch's face when he sees all the things you're going to do, that's certainly worth a few pieces of gold." Her language was deliberately childish towards the end, and appealing to their sense of being a 'light' family was equally deliberate. She had them hook, line and sinker.

The twins looked at each other for a long few moments before reaching a silent decision.

"Alright Miss Potter," George said.

"You have yourself a deal," Fred continued.

And with that they shook hands, and Jasmine smiled at having a perfect 'light' name under her thumb.

########################################################################################

The Diogenes club was very impressive, certainly compared to her other business she had visited earlier that day.

Though the rooms were empty, it was clear no expense had been spared in the rich wood panelling, and the luxurious leather armchairs lining one of the main rooms. By each chair was a table, upon which rested a box with a button which summoned a servant-there were to be no filthy house elves on the public side, only well-dressed butler-style staff-and a request could be made, the only time that one could speak outside of one of the private rooms.

And there were several of those, smaller versions of this room where private meetings could be held, or rooms with long tables for similar purposes of a more official nature. And there were even a few offices available to be hired for a space of months-under a hefty fee of course. And all of this, her own design, and due to open to the public tomorrow.

Interest had already peaked among the pure-blooded elite, as Jasmine had been sure to make a certain Malfoy patriarch receive a free membership for a year, and that his son knew about it. All it took after that was Draco to gloat to his various friends, who told their parents, and the problem of funding was already taking care of itself, they were already halfway to initial investment on membership alone-though many of the patrons so far only secured a single month's membership, wishing to test the waters first. Naturally, said first month was also half-price, just to ensnare as many as possible.

Malfoy, Nott, Zabini, Selwyn, Fawley, Yaxley, Parkinson, Abbott, and even old Bartemius Crouch had expressed interest. Come tomorrow, people whose families had been enemies for years, or who opposed each other daily in the Wizengamot, would sit face-to-face in companionable silence, not saying a single word. A stroke of brilliance, if she did say so herself.

"Very good, my employer will be very impressed," she remarked to Alexander Fox. The man was set to be the one who ran the business, and was aware of what would be happening behind the scenes. However, he was neutral enough politically for the place to appeal to all she wished to ensnare-not just those on the shadier side of things, gold was still gold after all. The man's father had been Edward Fox, the Head Unspeakable in his time, but his son had never amounted to as much, and this was a major opportunity for him. He was majorly indebted to an employer he had never met. ' _Perhaps_ ,' she reasoned, ' _at some point he will have a mirror call, and learn the name. All the better for him to fear a known yet still unknown entity_.' "Take me to my office," she commanded, and the man immediately bowed, gesturing to follow him.

He led her back into the main hall, and up the grand staircase to the fourth floor, and just along the corridor past his own office and at the far end of the ones available for renting, the mahogany door with its silver plaque simply said 'I.A,' not her full name of course, that would be a bad thing for such a public place, but her initials should be fine.

"It has been fitted to your exact specifications Miss Adler," Fox said opening the door for her as he did. Jasmine smiled as she walked through, marvelling as it was exactly that.

The dark wood panelling with silvery metal highlights made for a very traditional space, and two tiered effect almost left it as two rooms. To the side on the lower level, was a grand fireplace of artful stonework, around which were two chesterfield sofas and a similar armchair, of a dark green shade. Up a small dais, could be found the solid, imposing desk-inspired slightly after the Resolute Desk, though with her stylised 'M' symbol present on the front in the beautifully carved woodwork. In front of the desk rested two more, dark green chesterfield club chairs, and behind the desk a high-backed version of the same, slightly higher up as well.

Of course scattered around the edges of the room were end tables with old books and a globe drinks cabinet among other things, and to either side of the desk the walls were covered in bookcases, stacked with numerous tomes of varying rarity-though mainly not things one would find on an average bookshop shelf. There were no paintings of course; Jasmine did not trust that when people could move within them, that conversations would remain private.

And finally, there was the simple panelling behind the desk that should…

"Leave me," she commanded, and the middle-aged man backed out of the room, bowing as he went. Flicking out her wand, she felt for the panel which slid to the side to reveal a white crystal, brimming with magic and ready to accept her signature. With a flick of the knife always held up her sleeve, a spatter of blood from her finger was smeared on the crystal, which immediately absorbed it and changed colour to a rosy red, the protections now linked specifically to her.

Closing the hidden panel, she gave a flick of her wand, watching as the entire back wall retracted and slid off to the side to reveal a space the size of a large walk-in wardrobe. There were various shelves and racks lining the walls, and an island in the middle with various drawers waiting to be filled, and another chair like the one behind her desk beside it. But the far wall was blank, and in front rested a tall object covered in a black sheet.

Here, it had been surreptitiously taken from the Moriarty vault she had set up in Gringotts, and it had been placed in there by way of the Potter vault, and before that from Hogwarts by one Albus Dumbledore.

With a flourish, she pulled the sheet off by hand, revealing the artfully intricate mirror. For a fraction of a second, she saw her own reflection, as she was, before the image blurred, and there was a different scene.

It was slightly different, yet again, to the last time she had seen it, most likely due to change in location. Now the image of herself was seated in the green chair in front of the mirror, Hermione Granger sitting on her lap as they duelled with their tongues.

With the adult hers face leaning to the side slightly, the emerald green eyes occasionally flicked up from her lover to stare knowingly at Jasmine before returning to her current actions.

Jasmine sighed as she sat down in the real chair, and took in the scene, committing every last detail to memory; every fibre of their clothing, every out-of-place hair on their heads, the imperfections in their skin.

And so she sat, and watched, and thought.

########################################################################################

"So, what would Jasmine Potter want with the Philosopher's Stone?"

Jasmine smiled at the question, she had been waiting for a while, up here, on the same window seat as last time. She enjoyed their sparring in class and on grades, but she just needed that little bit more.

"I wouldn't know, I don't have said stone," she replied nonchalantly.

"Are you really going to remain so cool? Flamel and his wife depend on that stone to live, they will die soon without it," Granger returned.

"Nicholas Flamel is centuries old, methinks it's about time," Jasmine countered drily, "Death doesn't like being cheated of her fee, you know."

"Her?"

"Oh she's definitely a woman," Jasmine replied with a smile, "there's something so haunting about the legends of the Lady Morrigan, of the Gaelic woman of red hair and a raven upon her shoulder. The reaper of souls, as a child, a battle maiden, or an old crone."

"Myth and legend are not fact," Hermione returned simply.

"Ah, but they're so much more _fun_ ," Jasmine argued. "And there are hints of truth. There are gods among the men who walk this earth."

"Are you referring to yourself?"

"Are you sure that's not a Freudian slip?" Jasmine turned to look at the bushy haired girl. "I was referring to _us_. Is someone incredibly superior to others not the definition of godly? I've seen you keep that Nadia girl with you, and tell me this; how often must you explain how you have reached a conclusion _achingly_ slowly and she will _still_ not understand? We are not normal children, my dear Miss Granger; we are above their petty squabbles and childish endeavours, we are capable of understanding nuances they could spend their whole adult lives trying to grasp, we can see the twists and turns of reason and divine purpose from the smallest of things." She gesticulated with her hands as she attempted to explain her point of view. "We are gods to them in much the same way a shepherd is to his flock; we are above them."

"You think yourself better than them," Hermione summarised.

"Of course," Jasmine replied, as if it were the simplest of facts.

"Then you've missed the point," the girl stated firmly, before turning and walking away. Jasmine frowned at her retreating figure, trying to think of something to say or even to understand what she meant. Was this some socio-political parable about the strong having a responsibility to look after the weak?

########################################################################################

The Christmas holidays were quickly upon Jasmine, and she was still left confused by her last meeting with her fellow genius. However, she resolved to put that out of mind in favour of the work that needed to be done. Officially, she remained within Hogwarts over the holidays. Unofficially, she was leaving the castle for most of the day to deal with business in the real world.

It was on one such day that she had a meeting scheduled, at 2pm in her office at the club. Apparently, it would seem a certain someone had requested to meet with her.

She reclined back in her seat, swirling a crystal glass of a brown liquid disguised to look like alcohol-of course it was not in reality, she had no liking for the stuff as of yet. However, it was a necessary illusion, and that was what mattered.

Her musing on drinks was interrupted by a knock upon the door.

"Enter," she called out, and watched as Mr Fox stuck his head around the heavy frame.

"Lucius Malfoy to see you, ma'am," he stated.

"Send him in, then," she commanded, to which he swiftly nodded, opening the door to allow the well dressed, platinum haired man to enter. He eyed the room appreciatively, doubtless taking in the various refinements of aristocracy she'd been careful to include. "Mr Malfoy," she said in greeting, standing up from her chair, "a pleasure to meet you."

"And you as well, Miss…Adler I believe," he returned smoothly.

"Yes, although I'd appreciate it if you didn't spread the name around too much," she replied, walking over to him. "Please, sit down," she gestured to the sofas by the lightly crackling fire, "drink?"

"Please," he replied, gracefully alighting upon one of the green sofas. She opened up the globe in response to his acquiescence, visibly searching amongst the bottles within before snagging a decanter of brown liquid.

"1875 Cognac," she said as she poured out a healthy measure, "picked it up the other day. You'll be the first besides myself to sample it." She handed over the crystal glass before sitting down on the sofa opposite him. As he took a sip, he made a face of grudging acceptance.

"You have good taste," he stated, taking another sip.

"I like to think so," she replied with a smile.

"I'll confess, you play a good game," he commented, and Jasmine raised an obscured eyebrow in return.

"Oh? And what game is that?"

"You, the shadowy owner of this establishment, and the business you run behind it," Malfoy replied, "I knew there was something more to this place when I first entered. It was a clever idea, the main section, but there was more to things, not least that no-one seemed to know who actually owns the business. And then of course I discovered from a few…associates, of the other services that you offer for a fee. I of course surmised the rest and read between the lines and eventually when I do get a meeting with you, I still cannot see your face." He leaned back gesturing to her obscured visage. "And I'll presume that 'Irene Adler' is an alias, as I've certainly never heard of your family name before."

"It's a pseudonym, given to me by my employer," she answered, sipping from her glass and regarding Malfoy's confusedly furrowed brows with amusement, "ah yes, you were under the impression I was in charge here. Well, as far as the majority of people go, I am. In fact, the only man in the building, other than yourself, to know this is Mr Fox, and he has still never met or talked to my employer, nor does he even know his name."

"Quite the cloak-and-dagger routine," Malfoy stated, "to what end is all of this?"

"Secrecy is a powerful thing, or so he always tells us," she replied, "he is a shadow, always there but never visible. He is…I believe he called himself the consulting criminal, if you will. He has built up a power base, and now when someone requires something doing, say, an estranged lover removed from the equation, or a politician thrown out of office for misconduct, or any one of a number of things, big or small, he will get it done. For a price of course."

"And what are his prices?" Malfoy said carefully.

"Depends on the situation; money, an item, a favour, any one of a number of things, I can't profess to know all the details, I just deal with the business side of things." The Malfoy patriarch stayed silent for a long few moments, staring at her resolutely.

"I want a meeting with him; I deal with those in charge, not their staff," he growled, waving at her dismissively.

"He is no ordinary man, and that is not how he operates, Mister Malfoy," she returned.

"Well you can tell him from me," he said anger suddenly clouding his visage, "I will speak to _him_ , if he is oh-so bloody powerful, but I will not speak to his pet concubine as if she were my equal!" He slammed his glass down onto the coffee table and stormed from the room.

Jasmine gave a sigh. To be fair, she had expected something similar, and had prepared accordingly, it was just a bit of a pain. With finality, she withdrew her pocket watch and prepared to make a call.

########################################################################################

The secretary barely looked up as Lucius Malfoy stalked through the highest offices of the ministry two hours later.

"The Minister is in his office, Mister Malfoy," she said absently as he walked brusquely past her and the two aurors guarding the office and through the door.

He did finally pause when he entered the office, it being darkened with no lights lit. He even flinched as the door closed behind him, seemingly of its own accord.

"Mister Malfoy," said an unfamiliar voice that had the platinum-blond pulling his wand from his cane. "I believe you requested a meeting."

As the man's blue eyes adjusted to the low light, he finally saw a dark cloaked figure sitting behind the Minister's desk.

"Bloody Merlin," he said, realising who was sitting there.

"Actually the name's Moriarty, not Merlin. James Moriarty," the figure replied. "Please, sit, have a drink," Lucius noticed the chair positioned near the desk, upon the armrest of which rested a glass, "my, ah, what did you call her? Oh yes, _pet_ _concubine_ ," he drawled out the words scathingly, "said you appreciated the brandy before you left."

Lucius sat down, somewhat in a daze automatically taking the glass in hand and taking a heavy gulp, noting the same fine taste from not two hours before. _How_ was this possible? He half-heartedly tried to peer at the shadowed face beneath the hood in vain, only managing to make out that the black fabric was lined in dark green.

"Speaking of which, you should be glad she is not the sort to hold a grudge or this would be a slightly less pleasant meeting. I do not appreciate insults to my most valued of employees, though I'm sure by the next time you meet her you will have formulated an appropriate apology." ' _Or else_ ,' was silently implied, and Lucius resisted the urge to shiver. "In the mean-time, let us discuss the business you have to bring up."

 **A/N: And so another chapter ends, this story's reached a relatively high word count for such a short period of time for writing time.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Oh the lonely life of a high-functioning psychopath.**

 **Also, sorry there may be somewhat sporadic updates for this as this would be my last fully pre-prepared chapter from my three day burst of inspiration when I first wrote this idea up, about two weeks ago. I've had a rather heavy work-load of late, as well as certain responsibilities, and a lot of my free-time has been drawn into the works of 'Silently Watches' and 'The Carnivorous Muffin' like you wouldn't believe (seriously, check out their work, it's _far_ better than mine.)**

 **Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING, property of respective owners etc.**

Chapter Four

Christmas morning broke bright and early for Jasmine, much like any other day of the year, and as far as she was concerned it _was_ just a normal day. And so, she was surprised to say the least when she nearly tripped over something at the foot of her bed.

Flicking her holly wand absently to cast a light spell, she was puzzled to see a pair of packages on the floor. Both loosely shaped, one wrapped in midnight-blue, the other in gold. With hesitation, she picked them up; glad that her dorm was empty for the holidays and no-one was around to see.

She placed the gold one on the bed, and looked over the blue first, noting the lack of a nametag or letter, or any identification really. After throwing a few diagnostic spells at it, which came up blank, she carefully opened the packaging to reveal a large black piece of fabric, lined in intricate silver runes along the edge. From the middle of it all, was finally a handwritten note on a piece of card:

'Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it wisely.'

With a frown, Jasmine picked up the cloak. Something of her father's? The writing was Dumbledore's, that much she knew, but why would the old man begrudge her anything? She didn't imagine he was fond of her after the incidents of the last term, not least threatening him into giving her the mirror. Perhaps he was under oath to return this…cloak?

Moving around the fabric, she threw it over herself, wishing it was just a normal wizarding cloak. Almost as soon as she had thought that, the material seemed to twist and reshape itself, and moments later she was wearing a fine cloak, with a forward leaning hood. She froze at the change, and then gaped as a moment later; anything covered by the cloak disappeared. She moved her hand, so it emerged from a voluminous sleeve, seemingly attached to nothing, before hiding it again.

Jasmine smiled then, moving over to the full length mirror by the door of the room. If she pulled the hood down right, her entire body was invisible.

' _I wonder…_ ' she thought, considering how the invisibility cloak had responded to her previous wish, ' _off_.' And as soon as she had thought it, she was visible once more, and although she cut a short figure, the hooded cloak was quite intimidating. ' _How is this even possible? A normal invisibility cloak, aside from being ridiculously expensive, is certainly not capable of this. Not to mention, the power wears out in under a decade as the Demiguise fur loses its magic, so how could it be my father's? No invisibility cloak lasts that long and still works fine. Perhaps that was why Dumbledore was studying it?_ ' Jasmine resolved to go to the library at some point to research this, in the mean-time storing the cloak in her trunk safely under lock and key. No matter what, though, this would definitely be a very useful item. She also made a note to carefully check over it for tracking or monitoring charms; Dumbledore would hardly hand something of this nature to a student without some precautions.

Having stored that away however, she now turned to the golden package, flipping it over to reveal the card attached.

'To Jasmine, Merry Christmas, from Hermione.'

Her heart stopped, and she blinked at the gift. In all her years, those two little words had never been said to her. And she had never before received a real present from someone-the cloak from Dumbledore didn't count, he was simply returning what was already hers and using the date to make it seem like a gift, and nor did her relatives, who would perhaps begrudge her a few crumbs of Christmas pudding if she were _lucky_. This, was an honest-to-god Christmas present, from a…friend? Jasmine had never stopped to really consider what she and Hermione were, although she'd spent plenty of time considering the future and what she saw in the mirror, she'd never looked at the here and now.

With tentative hands and a disembodied sensation, as if it were someone else doing it, she unwrapped the gift carefully to reveal a navy blue, woollen scarf. With slow movements, she picked up the long length of fabric, her keen eyes picking out the details; the slight imperfections and mistakes. This was hand-made. For _her_. The little detail of 'J.P' in black on one of the ends made certain of that, someone, presumably Hermione herself, had gone to the trouble of knitting this for her.

She actually felt…something in her ice cold heart shift, a warm feeling growing in her chest for probably the first time in her short life.

With a sudden rush of movement, she checked the watch resting on her bedside table. She still had an hour before breakfast, but she'd have to be quick. With a speed she had rarely known, she quickly began to dress in clothes suitable for London. She knew what it was that she was going to be getting.

##########################################################################################

First day of term drew around all too quickly, and the evening feast heralded the arrival of their new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher, one Gilderoy Lockhart. He was a man seemingly prone to pontification and showing off from what Jasmine knew, and she did not have high expectations for his teaching standards.

The only real highlights of the day for her, was seeing the face of one bushy haired girl again, even though it was across the hall. They did exchange smiles at seeing each other though.

After the meal, almost as if guided by some exterior force, Jasmine walked up to the old tower, her blue scarf wrapped around her neck and thrown over her left shoulder. This time, however, it was Hermione who was to be found on the window seat, reading a book.

"First Edition copy of the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes," Hermione stated as the ravenette approached.

"I felt a book was appropriate for a bibliophile such as yourself," Jasmine replied. Hermione was very much a book-lover of course, hell; the girl was Madam Pince's favourite student because of it. "And I felt you could do with expanding your repertoire into fiction as well as non."

"An interesting choice of book," Hermione stated, "and just a tad expensive, how much did you pay for this?"

"Is it not against etiquette to ask such things?" Jasmine responded in an attempt to evade the question. The price was even higher than Hermione probably suspected, considering she had got it at absolute last minute on Christmas day itself. "I feel I returned something perhaps of lesser worth than you gave me, though I tried my best."

"Lesser? How is a scarf lesser than this?" Hermione replied incredulously.

"Time is worth far more than gold. You spent time and effort making this for me," Jasmine held the wool between her fingers, feeling the garment she had worn most every day since Christmas. "No-one's ever done something like that for me before." She whispered the last few words, but Hermione still heard them, and turned blue eyes on her, filled with an emotion Jasmine had never seen directed at her; pity. "Don't look at me like that," she said hotly, feeling awkward under Hermione's gaze, "never look at me like that, I do not _want_ nor _need_ your pity."

Hermione flinched away as if struck at her tone, even a flash of fear in her bright eyes.

"I'm sorry," she began slowly, but Jasmine just brushed her off.

"No, forget it!" she moved to storm away from the witch, but paused as a voice sounded behind her.

"I do appreciate it. The book I mean," Hermione said softly, "I always loved Sherlock Holmes when I was younger, my mum used to read the stories to me. I always identified with him a lot, being smarter than other kids my age. Decided I wanted to be a detective when I grew up," she gave a snort of amusement, "seems so silly now."

"We can achieve anything if we set our minds to it," Jasmine replied after a moment, looking back at the bushy haired girl, "I suppose, if you're Sherlock, and you already have a Watson in the Longbottom girl, does that make me Moriarty?"

"Hah, I suppose you are my diabolical nemesis," Hermione replied light heartedly.

"And so it shall be writ in stone. I shall bid you good evening, Miss Holmes, until we meet again in our game of shadows," and with that, she left, carefully guarding her face lest her counterpart see something detailing the truth of her statement.

##########################################################################################

Lessons proceeded as lessons did, and Jasmine had her suspicions about Lockhart proved correct; he was an incompetent buffoon, and a fame hound who loved to brag about his various accomplishments-which sounded slightly off to her for some reason. He never actually detailed _how_ he dealt with them exactly, which would of course be the most useful thing for their class. Not to mention that he seemed simply incapable of casting _any_ spell right.

When he attempted to show them how to deal with a Cornish Pixie (only the one, she'd also heard about what happened when he let several out into the classroom earlier in the day.) The little blue creature managed to disarm him and flip him over onto his back before he managed to flick his wand and by pure chance disorientate it into knocking itself out on the wall by flying into it. Still, the man managed to dust himself off and play it off as nothing, despite it being an obvious example of his complete and total inadequacy. He of course, merely dismissed them all from the lesson early, apart from Padma Patil for some reason.

##########################################################################################

' _A great artefact of power, Death's Cloak is one of the three Deathly Hallows granted by death to the wisest of three brothers, see Tales of Beadle the Bard. It is written to be a cloak which bestows upon the wielder true invisibility and the ability to move within the shadows as if they were their own, even to hide from Death himself, as the story goes. However, there are many who believe this, along with the other two Hallows, does indeed exist. It is rumoured, that Ignotus Peverell was the brother who was given the cloak; however nothing has ever been proven_ ,' Jasmine leaned back from the book after reading the words. ' _Interesting_ ,' filtered through her mind, ' _Peverell….I know that name from somewhere_.'

She resolved to look it up at a later date, after all this was just one possibility, not necessarily the only one. Still, it was actually slightly more plausible than some of the leads she'd gone over since Christmas.

"That looks like an old book," said a voice from behind her, and Jasmine smiled as she twisted on the stone window-sill to gaze at a curious Hermione.

"Just a little extended reading," she replied deftly, not mentioning that it was indeed an old book, from the restricted section in-fact. Oh, the advantages of invisibility. "Reading up on the Deathly Hallows."

"Oh, I've never heard of them, what are they?" her counterpart inquired with interest, looking over her shoulder at the old tome.

"Artefacts from a story, from the Wizarding equivalent of Grimm's fairy tales," she answered.

"You and your fairy tales," Hermione chortled, "I mean, I appreciate fiction now and then-."

"Practically never," Jasmine interrupted, and Hermione shrugged, conceding the point.

"But still, what's with your obsession with it?"

"I enjoy them; would you begrudge me my hobbies and interests?"

"I guess not," the girl agreed, "I suppose it's fairly harmless as hobbies go, I just don't see the point."

"Ah, that's because you have such a narrow mind-set of what counts as 'useful' information to be stored up here," the ravenette tapped the side of her head.

"Well I have to delete _some_ things," Hermione relented, "my library gets full." That got Jasmine intrigued, and she quirked her head at her fellow.

"Your mindscape you mean?" she inquired, "is a library?"

"It makes it easy to classify information and store it in a relevant location."

"Heh, guess it makes sense you'd use a library," Jasmine replied.

"What about you?"

"Hogwarts," Jasmine stated simply, "nice and easy to visualise with how we're constantly in it, and separate classrooms and wings for information, not to mention plenty of hidden locations and tricks and traps."

"Traps?"

"Legilimancers do exist, Hermione, our dear headmaster is one, as well as Professor Snape, and I like to make things difficult for anyone who would attempt to abuse my mind."

"Don't you mean enter?"

"Same thing."

##########################################################################################

"So, allow me to get this straight," Jasmine fixed the brothel madam with a hard look through her dark aviators, "you want an extra investment so as to be able to indulge some of your client's more…eccentric fantasies?"

"T-that's right, Miss Adler," the woman she knew as Rosa replied.

"Why didn't you say so in the first bloody place?" she said incredulously, "just give me a list of what you need and I'll see that it happens. And honestly, don't try to 'protect' me by beating about the bush. We've recently purchased shares in the booming muggle pornography industry, and let me tell you, they are far, far ahead of wizards when it comes to the perverse."

##########################################################################################

"Account Manager Griphook, may your gold flow freely and plentily," Jasmine greeted as she sat down in the chair before his desk.

"And may your enemies die in obscurity and bankruptcy, Miss Potter," he replied with a toothy grin. It always seemed to please the goblins that she had taken the time to learn some of their customs for dealing with them-and a pleased person was always easier to deal with. That or terrified.

"So why did you wish to meet in person?" she inquired curiously.

"It's about your vaults." She frowned. A few of the goblins were the only ones aware she had more than just the Potter vault, and that her other two vaults were listed under Eleanor Jarvis and Irene Adler. In matter of fact she had paid, and continued to pay, a very hefty bribe fee to make sure that continued. "Specifically the Potter vault."

"What about it?" she said slowly.

"Albus Dumbledore has repeatedly been trying to both gain access to it - claiming to be your magical guardian - and also to find out what is inside," the goblin leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers, "of course, although they still haven't been read - having been sealed on Dumbledore's orders, as you know - your parents' wills state Sirius Black, Alice Longbottom, and Remus Lupin as your choices for guardian in event of their deaths. All three of whom are still alive, regardless of one sitting in prison and another in Saint Mungo's."

"I was under the impression that he could keep trying to ask until his mouth turns blue and he will still get no information on my vaults," she said neutrally.

"Yes, that is the position of Gringotts as a whole, however I should warn you that there are those among our people who are sympathetic to him - as defeater of Grindelwald etcetera - and may divulge information if he pushed them specifically." Jasmine gave the exterior impression of being calm, but inside she was fuming. That thrice damned old meddler!

"I am going to be plain, Griphook," she stood, leaning over to place hands on the desk and loom over the man menacingly, "let it be known among your people. If anyone, _anyone_ , gets _any_ information on _any_ of my vaults; I shall pack up and take every last piece of gold from all three vaults, close the accounts, and make a public announcement that I do not trust Gringotts with my gold. Am I clear?" The threat was no small or idle one. In the last few months, she had hugely increased her net value after an initial dip of investment, and as the girl-who-lived, her statement would incite panic among the sheep.

"Crystal, Miss Potter," he replied formally with a neutral expression, but she caught the hint of fear in his beady eyes.

"Good," she turned to move towards the door, "oh, and thank-you for bringing this to my attention. You can be sure a measure of thanks will appear in your personal vault before sundown. May your gold flow freely and plentily."

##########################################################################################

"Hello?"

"Good morning Mister Hound," Jasmine spoke into the mobile phone.

"Ah, Miss A-Adler," he said in reply.

"I want you to put several million into Apple, I get the feeling the worth is about to shoot up," she stated, looking over the 'secret' file containing pictures of the innovation coming in June, "and pull out of any rival companies."

"M-Miss Adler, Apple shares have been steadily dropping slightly annually around the same degree since the iPod boom."

"Mister Hound," she said warningly.

"Yes, yes, sorry ma'am, I'll get right on it."

"Good," she said, closing the flip-up phone and ending the call. The man was a bit timid, but made a good money manager for her muggle investments. Baker Street Holdings, housed exactly there, was making ripples in its quickly expanding portfolio and growing profits. "So much to do, so little time," she muttered, "oh damnit, I have a charms essay due in."

##########################################################################################

"Why do you want to see me, Professor?" Jasmine inquired as the rest of the class filed from the room. Snape flicked his wand to close the door behind them before replying.

"Most of the students at this school are not worthy of my time, not least the majority of the dunderheads in first year. However, every now and then, it becomes plain that some actually may have the required skill with the fine art of potion-making to be worth my attention. And while you may have inherited your _father's_ ," he spat the word sourly, making it plain he disliked the man, "hair, you have also gained Lilly's intelligence." Jasmine furrowed her brows. The man had known both her parents it seemed, and by the way he said their names and the small mannerisms and micro-emotions…he had loved Lilly Evans, and probably hated James Potter for beating him to her. "The work you do in this class is clearly beneath your ability, and as such from now on you will be streamlined into more complex brews. If you can cope with the work I give you, you will be taking your OWL in third year, and will be a fully qualified Potions Mistress by eighteen. If you do not wish to do this, say as much now, however if you agree, you must be prepared for the work to come."

"I would be delighted, Professor," she said, bowing slightly. A mastery in potions could be very useful indeed, and it did interest her as a subject.

"Good," he said succinctly, as if he expected nothing less. "There is a second matter…when your mother and I were at school, we took to invention. Spells, potions, enchantment. She was a…natural genius," his tone was grudging, but his eyes were dark, heavy, as if struggling through the memory. "We recorded our work in a pair of notebooks," he opened a drawer at his desk and withdrew a black book, which he placed on the desk and slid towards her. Taking it slowly, she noted the name 'Lilly Evans' in gold filigree. "You have proved that you are responsible enough to receive this. It was bound to her blood, so you are naturally the only person alive who can open it."

"Thank-you, Professor," she said carefully, uncertain of what to say.

"Do not thank me, you earned it. I would not have given it to you were you too immature or incapable of using the information properly," he grudgingly replied, "now take this list," he handed over a piece of parchment, "those are all the potions books and ingredients you are going to need for your new studies."

##########################################################################################

"Miss Skeeter, thank-you for coming," Jasmine greeted from her place by the drinks globe, with her customary drink in hand. "Please sit down; I don't believe I need to introduce Michael Greengrass," she gestured to her well-dressed counterpart on one of the sofas. "Drink?"

"Certainly," she replied, settling herself on the other sofa, and accepting the brandy when offered. "May I enquire as to why I am here though?"

"I should like to know that as well," Greengrass said lowly, and Jasmine flashed the pair a smile, settling herself in the armchair facing the fireplace.

"The news is a powerful thing, and currently, there is only one real newspaper in Wizarding Britain to report it. My employer believes this leaves some space of opportunity, and he has selected the two of you to spearhead this," she stated.

"Your employer?" Skeeter asked curiously, with a customary reporter's look. Greengrass flinched at the question, he was already aware of Moriarty, and had had a few dealings with him.

"A powerful and wealthy man, who prefers anonymity," she answered, "anyhow, his plan is for the 'Diagon Gazette' to be up and running by the end of the summer. You, Mister Greengrass, as CEO and chief editor, and you Miss Skeeter as head reporter."

"And why would I leave my job at the Prophet?" Skeeter drawled.

"Profit," Jasmine replied with a shark's grin, "the monetary kind, not the fortune telling. My employer is willing to offer an exorbitant signing fee for both of you." She pulled a pair of envelopes from her coat, holding one out in each hand to the pair who took in their names in green calligraphy as they took them. Skeeter of course, immediately opened her envelope, quickly scanning the parchment within with widening eyes. Greengrass however was eyeing her suspiciously.

"Why me?" he questioned.

"You're a fairly successful businessman with a good head on his shoulders and _relatively_ neutral politically. You can be trusted to deliver the news. Speaking of which," she turned to Skeeter, "it is staying the news, less sensationalism. We obviously want attention grabbing headlines, but you are no longer fighting for your front page Miss Skeeter, keep it factual for the most part. Unless instructed otherwise."

"Instructed otherwise?" Skeeter inquired curiously.

"Like I said, the news is a powerful thing," Jasmine replied.

##########################################################################################

"Do you know the best thing about purebloods, Mr Greyback?" Jasmine said casually as she pulled an envelope from her pocket.

"No," he stated gruffly.

"They have more money than sense," she replied with a smile, "this contains a small list of people we have dirt on, and a longer one of people we want dirt on. With some of them, there are then instructions to extort them for a fee."

"Now that I can do, my men are getting a bit restless guarding the businesses," Fenrir said eagerly.

"I believe there'll be even more work for them soon; he has me writing up plans to take over Knockturn entirely, and for getting a few new people under his control."

"He never stops, does he?"

"I should hope not; then I'd be out of a job," she replied wryly, wringing a bark of laughter from the werewolf.

##########################################################################################

Jasmine simply raised an eyebrow as Lockhart was slammed back on his arse up on the duelling dais, as opposed to the laughs and sniggers from her fellow students. Snape was equally as composed, but she thought she could see a hint of satisfaction showing through his mask.

"Ah yes, very well done Professor Snape," the puffed up ponce said as he picked himself up, "though of course I could have blocked it had I been trying, I thought the students would wish to see the spell's effects."

"Of course," drawled Snape, "how about we allow two of the students to duel as an example."

"Excellent idea!" Lockhart exclaimed, "Right, Potter! Up you come." She barely resisted an open scowl at his singling out of her. She absolutely hated how much he tried to play up her fame during class, and ignored or put a stop to it at every chance she could, but the damn man was relentless. "And… Finnegan, come on up boy."

"If we allow Mister Finnegan up here, we'll be pulling out Miss Potter's charred corpse," Snape said derisively, to a few sniggers and an outraged Seamus. It was no secret how half his spells caused smoke and explosions. "How about…Miss Granger."

The collective intake of breath was all the response needed, and Jasmine exchanged a glance with the bushy haired Gryffindor. Her expression was clear: 'I'm game if you are.'

And so, with graceful steps, she alighted up the steps to the side by Snape while Hermione took to the other end. Upon getting to position, Jasmine flicked her wand out to the side and bowed deeply, her counterpart doing the same.

"Remember, to disarm only," came the ineffectual defence teacher's voice, though by the playful grins on both girl's faces, that was unlikely. "Three…Two…One…Begin!"

Jasmine struck first, sending a flipendo over Hermione's way which was instantly deflected to the side. She returned fire with three quickly fired curses that Jasmine brought up a strong shield to repel. Taking her opponent's tactic, Jasmine fired off a volley of simple spells, each one low powered but enough to cause the girl to slip. Hermione dodged the majority, but had to shield to defend against the last two, and Jasmine took that moment to send a more powerful stunner her way, which the brunette barely dodged.

And so they danced across the space, the air filled with magic and the shouts of Lockhart ignored as they traded spells swiftly growing in magnitude to that of a third year quickly. Jasmine favoured the still, solid position with shielding, whereas Hermione leaped about a bit, her agility and lack of need to shield giving her a slight advantage in timing, getting more spells off in a minute.

They were incredibly evenly matched until Jasmine felt the floor beneath her move, and she practically leapt backwards as the wood formed grasping hands trying to latch onto her. In her moment of panic though, however brief, Hermione struck, a simple red jet of light flicking her wand from her hand. The brunette even looked slightly triumphant as the holly stick left her hand.

She clearly didn't expect the sudden, silent and wandless banisher that made her stagger a little. Not a powerful spell, since it was without wand or word, but enough to disrupt her balance and shock her.

In the second it gave her, she again wandlessly and wordlessly summoned her wand back to her hand and quickly flicked her own disarming spell at Hermione, making sure to flick it just right so the vine wood wand landed in her own outstretched hand. The Gryffindor looked scandalised as Lockhart approached.

"Now, as impressive a display as that may have been, girls, I did say to disarm only," the man chided, though was mainly ignored. Jasmine was currently on the verge of cursing herself for revealing her recent developments into wandless magic-after advice from her mother's notebook. "However, Miss Potter emerged victorious, well done. I think however, that that is enough for tonight. Miss Granger, would you please stay behind to help me clean up."

She walked over to the bushy haired witch carefully, holding the vine wood wand outstretched.

"You cheated," Hermione stated firmly as she snatched her wand.

"I used the resources at my disposal," Jasmine corrected, "and besides, were this a proper duel where I could go all out, you wouldn't have lasted anywhere near that long." It was true as well, considering her ebony wand was shaped for duelling and she was gradually learning spells of a darker nature that were far more powerful than those taught in school.

Apparently though, that wasn't the right thing to say, as the Gryffindor simply huffed, and walked over to Lockhart. With a sigh, Jasmine turned to head back to Ravenclaw. At least the evening had been interesting. Certainly, duelling Hermione had been an experience, and possibly an insight into her mind.

##########################################################################################

 **A/N: Mentions of rape.**

"I wrestled the wolf to the ground, and forcibly applied the Homorphus Charm, reverting him to human form," Lockhart said, giving his patented white grin. Honestly, Jasmine swore he must have discovered muggle teeth whitener.

"How did you manage that, Professor?" she inquired from her seat, and Lockhart spun to stare at her.

"Pardon me?" he said confusedly.

"Well, the Homorphus Charm is legend, and has been lost for several centuries. Not to mention, it is regularly referred to as ritualistic and taking a long time to cast, not something used quickly in a fist-fight," she answered, knowing full well he would not be able to answer her, just wishing to gain an insight into how much he actually knew about the situation-after all, the werewolf would have had to existed or people would refute his claims. Wouldn't they?

"Well, I, er…that is to say," he suddenly seemed awkward, "well, I'm afraid I don't have time for that, the lesson is over." He looked at the clock like it was a life saver. "But I would be happy to answer your question if you would stay behind now."

Somewhat curious, she nodded, and stayed seated as the rest of the class departed.

"You know," Lockhart began as the door closed and they were alone, "your insistent questions can be very aggravating as a teacher. Still, I suppose it just means I'll enjoy punishing you that much more, _Imperio_!" Jasmine's confused frown went slack as she was taken by surprise by the unforgiveable.

Her mind felt like she was moving through treacle, and there was a little voice pushing at her to sit still like a good girl. She couldn't hear things properly, a sound not unlike white noise at her ears muffling things, but she could see, even if it felt like it was through another person. And what she saw was Lockhart unbuckling his belt and…

Even in an essentially drugged state, her formidable mind really didn't need at all long to come to a conclusion, and fight like hell.

' _No, no, no, no, no, HELL NO_ ,' she thought, pushing past the feelings of lethargy and swam against the current to wrench back control of herself, pushing the waves of magic from her castle mindscape, using her occlumency training to focus herself.

"No," slipped past her lips as she pushed to regain control of her body. Lockhart reeled back as if struck, and made for his wand quickly.

"Obliv-," she was faster than him, just, her desperation fuelling her wandless banisher that had gotten much stronger since her duel with Hermione. She quickly followed up with flicking her wand down from her wrist holster, disarming him swiftly, and then tying him to a chair with ropes. "Now, ah, Miss Potter, there's a very simple way to explain all of this," he said weakly with that damned annoying smile of his.

"Silencio," she growled, ending any begging he might have done. Her mind was working ten-to-the-dozen as facts grouped together in her head to create theories, and her memory alluded to multiple times during the past few months when a student had been kept back after class. Always female. "Hermione," she whispered under her breath, her mind replaying the girl being asked to stay behind after the duelling club… She stalked over to Lockhart, anger and fear driving her hateful expression. If he had so much as _touched_ her Hermione. "Legilimens," she incanted, her wand-tip resting on his forehead, and he screamed as she none-too-gently blasted through his mind.

For the first time in a long while, she felt a pit of disgust open in her stomach as she viewed his life. He was a con-man first and foremost, as he could cast barely any spells except for some skill in charms, especially memory ones. He tracked down great witches and wizards, stole their story, and obliviated them so they'd never remember. He was obsessed with his fame and money, and routinely used the former to sleep with every woman he could get; from housewives to barely legal fangirls. And then he'd come to Hogwarts, and his mind had seen the lack of any adult relief apart from accomplished professors he daren't face, and set his sights on…the children. Her stomach actually turned as she watched him use students, and then wipe their memories of the event, but she pushed through it, aiming for one specific person. Relief flooded Jasmine as she watched Hermione throw off the Imperius even quicker than she had, but was caught by Lockhart's obliviate before she could act.

Withdrawing from his mind, she looked upon the man with revulsion. She may have headed up a criminal empire, but using children for sexual needs? She made a note to look into Rosa's business and insure she wasn't actively perpetrating anything similar.

"Stupefy, obliviate," she said quietly, using the man's own favourite charm against him as she wiped memories past the point where she bound him, and made it seem like she had stunned him immediately. No need for the world to know of her talent with the arts of the mind, even if her legilimency was still quite basic, and she was nowhere near close to wandless, let alone the surface-skimming of Dumbledore. This man, if he could be called as much… "Expecto Patronum," she incanted, silver mist forming from the end of her wand until a raven appeared, hopping on the ground. "This is Jasmine Potter, Lockhart is a rapist. Send aurors," she said clearly, before flicking her wand to send the ethereal bird on its way to the Ministry. She then turned hateful eyes upon Lockhart. Oh, there would be blood. She would exact bloody vengeance on him for even trying to hurt her Hermione, but first she would ruin what he held dear; his fame and his sterling reputation.

##########################################################################################

"This is a bloody mess," Bones said as she watched her aurors drag the blond man away, none too gently either.

"I should say so, Madame Bones. I always suspected there was something fishy about his books, but this…how many could he have…?" Jasmine replied, playing up the traumatised schoolgirl slightly. Not too much as to be someone who an adult would patronise, but Madame Bones didn't seem that type.

"We don't know, _yet_ ," she growled, eyeing the man with hatred. Naturally of course, since she herself had a niece in first year, her only living relative.

"Dumbledore is probably going to try and brush this under the carpet, isn't he?" she stated more than asked.

"Yes, he is," Bones replied, looking down at the ravenette with interest. "It will hardly reflect well upon him that one of his own staff members…" she trailed off, not wanting to complete that sentence in front of a little girl most likely.

"Well, we'll soon see about that," Jasmine muttered.

##########################################################################################

 _Dear Parent,_

 _I write to you as to a matter of some urgency, regarding an important matter of a serious crime committed within Hogwarts, and has affected your daughter. I would request that at 3pm tomorrow, you come to Diagon Alley to hear the news first-hand._

 _Yours sincerely_

 _Jasmine Potter_

##########################################################################################

The alley was fairly packed before the simple wooden stage, clearly more than just the parents she had sent letters to turning up-just as she'd hoped. Several reporters were at the front as well, eagerly holding cameras for a glimpse of the girl-who-lived. Well, hopefully the story she'd give them would be fuelled by even more than her famous status.

As she ascended up the steps to the stage, the rowdy crowd went quiet. For many, it was likely a special event, seeing the famous girl, and Jasmine wished she could have used it on a more favourable occasion, where she could use it to her advantage. But she still wanted to bring Lockhart down, for what he'd tried to do to _her_ Hermione. Casting a quick charm on her throat, she moved to centre stage.

"Thank-you all, for coming," she said in her amplified voice, allowing a few camera flashes to flare, taking in her pristine Hogwarts uniform with the blue trim. "Although I wish it were under happier circumstances. Before I continue, I would first like to say I am really, truly sorry to those of you here today because you received a letter from myself, as it means a terrible thing." She waited for the whispers to die down before continuing, well aware of the many eyes trained on her. "What I am about to tell you, even now Professor Dumbledore is likely attempting to hush up, which is my reason for unveiling it to the public. Gilderoy Lockhart is a fake." Whispers again moved through the crowd, it moving as people shuffled to get a look at her. "He took the stories of better witches and wizards, obliviated them, and wrote his books. But that is not the worst he has done. There is no easy way to say this, but in his time at Hogwarts he has molested a number of the female students." Uproar moved throughout the crowd, shouts and bellows of disbelief. "To those of you," she started again, the noise quieting as she spoke, "who have received a letter from me, I am sorry for what it means as I believe you will now understand." The horrified and dumbstruck faces amongst the crowd told her enough. This was her plan, to get the parents as angry as they could get. At least some of them would be on the Wizengamot, and the weight they could pull would be more than enough to secure a public trial, despite Dumbledore's attempts at a quiet one she knew he was working on. "That is what I came here to say, thank-you again for coming."

"Miss Potter!" called a reporter's voice from the front of the crowd, "how do you know this is the truth?"

"Because he attempted to do it to me," she replied, "I am only standing before you because I threw off his Imperius curse-which seems to be his modus operandi-and was a quicker draw than him."

"Why would Dumbledore attempt to cover this up?" yelled another.

"Well, I obviously cannot understand his real motives, but I doubt it reflects well upon him as the school's headmaster that he hired a rapist and allowed him to commit those crimes under his very nose," she replied, trying to keep the smile from her face. ' _Take_ that _, Dumbles. You are not controlling me, you are not my magical guardian, and you can go fuck yourself_ ,' she thought triumphantly.

##########################################################################################

"Jasmine, I would like you to retract your statements of yesterday afternoon," Dumbledore stated in his grandfatherly tone. She laughed in his wrinkled old face.

"And why would I do that?" she replied.

"Because you made untrue allegations about myself; I was not trying to 'hush it up' as you described."

"Yes you were, don't try to patronise me," she said derisively. "You attempted to have Lockhart incarcerated straight in Azkaban without trial, and without actually declaring his crimes-rather similar to Sirius Black, actually, and I wonder who else."

"How would you know anything about that?" he said quietly.

"The same way I know you've been trying to access my Gringotts vault," she said coldly. "Which you have no right to do. I'll be clear, Professor, stay out of my business, and quit your meddling before it finds you in a tighter spot than this one." She stood, and made to leave before a question stopped her.

"Why are you doing this Jasmine?" Dumbledore asked, his tone still unchanged from that patronising grandfather persona.

"Tell me," she said neutrally, "did you ever know Vernon Dursley? Or Petunia? The answer is no, as you and I both know you have met Petunia only once, before she was married, and never her lard-barrel of a husband, or his miniature version of himself. And yet, you saw fit to place a child on their doorstep in the middle of the night-in November I might add-with nothing but a letter. Now, I ask you," she turned to look at him, "what bloody right did you have to do that?"

As she closed the door, and walked down the stairs, she mused over the persona she was creating. ' _Should be enough to throw him off, certainly doubt he'll ever be able to connect me to Adler if he's too busy working out my childhood issues. Helps that those were real, of course_ ,' she thought.

##########################################################################################

Lockhart was, of course, absolutely crucified in the court of public opinion. In a population so small, everyone had family at Hogwarts, and it was easier to count those who didn't want the ponce's balls spiked onto a wall.

He was distinctly dishevelled at the trial from his normal looks, his shining locks no longer holding their lustre or their size as they drooped.

He sang like a canary though, under veritaserum, about his numerous crimes. He was taken into private however, to divulge the names of those he molested, to save publically saying their names.

Eventually the sentence was life in Azkaban, and even then the crowd shouted for the kiss.

Of course, he never made it to Azkaban Island.

##########################################################################################

"Gilderoy, Gilderoy," Jasmine said as she walked down the steps to the floor of the circular dungeon chamber. "You have been a very, very bad boy."

"Where am I?" he asked fearfully, looking around at the stone brick walls.

"Somewhere no-one will hear your screams, and even the crows won't find your corpse. Oh, you didn't think you'd got off as lightly as _Azkaban_ did you?" she enjoyed looking into his terrified eyes through her glasses. This little dungeon cell would open for her and her alone, and he would never leave alive, so she didn't feel bad when she removed her glasses and allowed the man to see her face.

"You?" he stated incredulously.

"Yes, me," she replied annoyedly, shrugging off her coat which accounted for all the glamours affecting her now, and draped it over a chair nearby. "Now tell me, do you know what you're sitting in?" Strapped to was more like it, to be fair. "No? It's a dentist's chair. Specifically one that got recently thrown out by a clinic run by Emma and Daniel Granger. Now isn't _that_ interesting." His fearful face told her it was anything but. "And some of these," she picked up a metal instrument from the largely expanded table attached to the chair, "are dentist's tools. Not all, but I felt it fitting I use them."

" _Use them?_ " he said hoarsely.

"That's right," she played with a scalpel, "use them. On you, to be precise. You see, Miss Granger doesn't remember what you tried to do to her, and she never will. Her parents as well, do not know, and will likely never be informed as to what happened, as the magical world treats muggles so badly, and Hermione will never want to tell them lest she be removed from Hogwarts. So, this is me getting revenge in their stead, and not just a little for myself. You see," she leaned into his face, a malice-filled look in her eyes, "she is _mine_. And you attempted to hurt her. _No-one gets away with that_." She wrinkled her nose as the scent of urine filled the air, and she flicked her wand from her sleeve and cast a charm to clear up the mess. "Now, time to hook you up to this," she pulled an IV drip over, deliberately showing off the needle, "this, has a little cocktail I worked up-I'm good with potions-and it will keep you with nutrition, and a bit of energy, and stop you from sleeping as much as possible, and generally keep you _alive_. Don't get me wrong, you are going to die in this room Gilderoy, but it is not happening any time soon."

"Please," he begged, "have mercy."

"Sorry, all out of mercy."

##########################################################################################

Greyback happened to be waiting outside the cell when she left it, still wiping blood from her hands.

"What does Moriarty want with that bloke?" he inquired, pointing to the door.

"He's a favour to me," she muttered in reply. Realising she should probably give a reason; she quickly came up with a cover. "There is only one member of my family I care about, and she happens to be studying at Hogwarts."

"Right," Greyback said, understanding showing in his eyes, "should I go dispose of his corpse?"

"He's not dead, Fenrir," she said, not even noticing her slip into first names, "and he's not going to be dead for a while. I have a long way to go yet before I allow him death."

"Remind me never to get on your bad side," Greyback commented.

"I'll be sure to warn you," she replied, walking off with hundreds of thoughts in her head. It had thrilled her, what she had done, perversely. She had enjoyed exacting every last bit of pain from that bastard, I had felt good. And that scared her somewhat.

 **A/N: To mention for those who missed it; Jasmine is starting Second Year in September 2007 to make ease for certain plans.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Right, this was a difficult chapter to write for some reason – especially as I've somewhat run out of steam, and I apologise for the time taken. Although, in my defence, I had no idea this would get so popular, I think this has had at least a hundred followers or something now.**

 **Still, after continual stopping, starting, and rewriting, here's a new chapter, sorry it's a bit short. No promises for when the next one will be out.**

 **Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING, property of respective owners etc.**

Chapter Five

"Please, for me," Jasmine insisted, holding one of several books out to the bushy haired girl. "I know you were good when we duelled, you were inventive, but I'm still worried about you."

"You sound like my mum," Hermione said drily, but still took the proffered manual on self-defence.

"Well, I'm getting half the advice from _my_ mum," that triggered a frown from the bookworm, so Jasmine pulled the slim black tome from within her robes. "My mother's journal. Lots of notes, inventions, advice. It's how I've been learning wandless and wordless magic. Snape gave it to me."

"I still say you cheated," Hermione said cheekily.

"Well, wandless magic is useful. At bare minimum you should know how to summon your wand back to you, because in a real fight…"

"Yeah, I know," the brunette stated, "and thank-you, I'm almost touched. One might believe Ravenclaw's recluse had an actual heart." The playful bat Jasmine gave her arm wrought a laugh from her friend, which was quickly echoed.

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"You!" spat the woman as she opened the door. Jasmine simply gave an angelic smile.

"Hello Aunt Petunia, may I come in?" The smile didn't reach her eyes, they were as cold and sharp as the emeralds they imitated.

"No! Never again, I don't care about that old fool and his warnings. Go!" she said angrily.

"I was rather hoping you'd say something like that, Imperio," Jasmine replied calmly, her unregistered ebony wand pointing at the horse-faced woman who swayed on her feet with a daze expression. "Walk back inside and sit down at the table in the kitchen." Petunia immediately spun and walked off to the other side of the house. Jasmine followed, surreptitiously closing the door behind her. When she entered the kitchen, she ignored her seated relative and put the kettle on the boil while gathering components.

"Useful thing, magic. And what I know about the Imperius curse is that you can still see and hear everything, even if it's a little bit disembodied. You are still conscious. Because, you see, I've been saving this," she poured out the water into a teapot, adding the tea bag and bringing two cups as she moved over to the table, sitting across from her aunt. "It's my birthday today, did you know that? I'm not sure, considering you all treated it as if it were any other day of the year. Then again, I don't think you ever cared. You did so hate your sister, after all." She poured out two cups of tea calmly, adding milk to her aunt's just as the woman liked it-she still remembered of course, from the time she spent as a _slave_ to their family. Her own had a plentiful heaping of sugar, and she smiled as she brought it to her lips, savouring the taste. "But she was still your sister, your flesh and blood. As am I. You see, that's why I only ordered your husband killed-oh, yes, I paid to have Vernon murdered by the way-you require a more personal touch. He, while he may have been the author of much of my misery-the beatings, the abuse and… did he ever tell you that he tried to rape me once?"

"Yes," Petunia replied instantly.

"I did always wonder, anyhow," she continued, sipping her tea again, "accidental magic saved me from that one, which someone else tried as well fairly recently you might like to know. He's currently dying, slowly, painfully and all that, but I digress." She set her cup down. "You are a real blood relative, unlike the walrus; you actually had an obligation to your dead sister, and to me, to take care of me. You did not; you made me your slave, your son's punching bag, and your husband's rage outlet. Well, congratulations; you're the one who made me who I am today." She reached over, and opened her faux-emerald ring above the other cup of tea, allowing the powder to fall from within into the liquid before closing the jewellery up and stirring it in carefully. "Maybe things would have been different, if you hadn't chosen this path, maybe _I_ would be different. Maybe I wouldn't be a sociopath who just poured arsenic into your tea." The woman's blank stare didn't change visibly, but she could swear the woman was slightly tense. "Drink it," she ordered, and Petunia immediately picked up the cup and brought it to her lips. "This is the first time, you know, that someone will have died by my direct hand. My first murder. Hah, I suppose if you don't count Voldemort." She stood from her chair, watching the woman drink the poisoned liquid. "Enjoy your ruin, Petunia Dursley, you've earned it. Oh, and just before I go, I may as well let you know. Dudley. He's still alive, for now. I'm not going to kill him today, no, I'm going to wait, wait until he thinks he's safe, and maybe has gotten over his parents' deaths. And then I'll kill him. And there's nothing you can do about it. Goodbye, dear aunt. We shall not meet again." And without a second glance, she walked from the room.

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"Mister Hound," she said into the phone, smirking at the sound of something being dropped onto the floor.

"Y-yes, Miss Adler?" came the reply.

"I believe Ford is currently having some financial difficulties; contact them and set up a meeting between them and myself to discuss the purchase of Aston Martin and Jaguar-Land Rover."

"M-Miss Adler, even with the Apple shares, we d-do not have the _capital_ for such an endeavour," he replied hesitantly.

"I do, Mr Hound," she stated evenly. She also had magic with which to confound the owners into a lower price, not to mention a stone which literally made gold. Though she would have to avoid using that too much, so as to stay away from upsetting the financial markets rather than controlling them. "Set up the meeting."

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" _Ford announced today the sale of both Aston Martin, and Jaguar-Land Rover to a company recently formed named Britannia Incorporated. The sale was for an undisclosed amount, but some rumours exceed one-point-five billion pounds. This sale is expected to increase jobs available…"_

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"The offices do look good," Jasmine stated as she leaned over a balcony above the main work area, just by the chief's office, throwing a shadow by the morning light. "And you have your first assignment for the paper to roll out tomorrow. Tomorrow is the 31st of August, the last day before Hogwarts students return. I've got you an interview with Jasmine Potter at three this afternoon."

"How did you manage that? Dumbledore's kept any information about her under wraps for more than a decade," Skeeter exclaimed.

"Never underestimate our employer, Miss Skeeter," she replied with a smile.

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"I didn't think you much of a media hound," stated an amused voice, making Jasmine look over the top of her copy of the Financial Times to gaze at Hermione, "not that you gave too much away."

"I'm saving that for a rainy day," she replied, getting the obvious reference to the article that ran in a new newspaper.

"Why did you give an interview though? Bit out of character for you," Hermione said as she sat down opposite her.

"I'm one of the investors in the paper," she grinned as Hermione gave a noise of understanding, "nothing like a bit of a catchy headline to help it sell on its first day. Worked pretty well apparently."

"Why invest in a paper?" Jasmine turned at the new voice to see the Longbottom girl blushing at being given attention from where she stood by the doorway, "I-I mean, the Prophet's been going for decades, everyone gets that one every day. Bit difficult to compete."

"I felt," Jasmine began, formulating a response based on who she was with, "that the nation could do without one paper having a monopoly on the news, especially one in the ministry's pocket." That should be a decent enough response.

"F-fair enough," Nadia replied, "my gran's always saying the Prophet's biased. Er, do you mind if I…?" she gestured at the empty seat next to Hermione.

"Go ahead, Nadia, you don't need to ask for permission you know," the bushy haired girl said fondly. The short-haired brunette blushed, but stowed her luggage up in the overhead compartment. Jasmine took the opportunity to properly study the girl that Hermione was so often seen in the company of. Short stature, slightly chubby, shy, clear fear of her grandmother, desperate to prove herself to said woman, rich background, uncomfortable in the dress she was wearing. A flick of her hand confirmed what she already knew personality wise; queen of wands. The gentle country lady, almost abominably honourable and good, virtuous, etcetera. "You and your cards," Hermione stated derisively from across the compartment, to which Jasmine merely smiled, tucking the tarot card back up her sleeve.

"They're useful," she replied ambivalently.

"They're a load of claptrap is what they are. You don't need them anyway," the bushy haired girl replied knowingly, and Jasmine relented that was true. Both of them could deduce facts easily enough already.

"I wouldn't dismiss divination out of hand, my dear Hermione," she said slowly, drawing her pack of cards out with a flourish, performing a Sybil cut through minor boredom. "Shall we play a game?"

"What, are you going to predict my future?" Hermione chortled.

"No, I was going to suggest getting the muggle pack of cards out of my trunk and playing poker to pass the time. I'd quite like to see how well you can bluff," Jasmine flashed a grin back at her.

"Try me."

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"Now, I know you all are dying to fill your stomachs after a long train ride," Dumbledore stated from his podium, "but I must introduce the latest addition to the staff. Ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys, our new professor of Defence against the Dark Arts; Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt." The tall, bald, African man in his blue robes stood and gave a pained smile to the student population. Likely he didn't want to be there, probably due to the fact no defence professor had lasted more than a year for the last half century. "Now that we all know who we are, tuck in!"

Grateful noises of appreciation were made throughout the hall as food appeared on various platters in front of them all. Jasmine merely methodically set her plate with a generally balanced diet-not caring overly about the actual individual components; Hogwarts' food was made by Elves, which while good, was bland and unimaginative, as well as fairly repetitive after a while.

"So that's the new defence teacher," one of her fellow 'Claws remarked out loud.

"Hopefully he's better than the last few we've had," another girl said drily.

"He's a senior auror, with two decades of law enforcement experience, originally born in Tanzania," Jasmine remarked off-handedly, gaining some interested looks at the rare occasion of her deigning to speak with her housemates-not that most of Ravenclaw minded; they respected scholarly recluses if nothing else. "He should know what he's talking about."

"Do you actually _know_ that, or is this more of your spooky mind reading?" the girl questioned-Morag her mind supplied from a list of various persons within the school.

"The former and I'm not a legilimancer as I've attempted to state numerous times. I merely use a process of induction, abduction and deduction to reason and create theories to suit facts I can discern," she replied tersely, despairing at even the house of the 'wise' being incapable of understanding what even a teenage muggle mathematician could comprehend somewhat. How Granger could _stand_ prolonged contact with their 'peers' was beyond her.

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"Take your hands off me! You filthy little mudblood!" the harsh declaration was spat from the blond Slytherin's lips, and the bushy-haired girl visibly recoiled at the slur.

"How dare you!" declared Nadia, snarling with a similar sentiment to the ravenette on the other side of the courtyard, watching the events with a careful eye.

"As if you're any better, you dirty blood-traitor," Malfoy sneered, "you're an insult to all the ideals of an Ancient and Noble House." The Brunette seethed with anger, and it was only Hermione physically restraining her-much to the gathered Slytherins' laughter-that stopped curses being flung. The group of snakes, however, knew not to push their luck, and quickly moved to go back inside. Jasmine, moved to intercept them.

"Malfoy," she stated neutrally as they passed, making the arrogant brat spin to look at her. "A word, if you please." Frowning, he dismissed his fellows, and followed her to a corner where she affixed hard emeralds upon him.

"Potter," he stated grudgingly in greeting-they weren't exactly on friendly terms, but they had some mutual respect. She hadn't felt like cultivating much more since she already had his father in her grasp.

"One warning, Malfoy," she growled at him, "that is what I'm giving you, as a courtesy. You do not touch Granger. Do you understand? Go after any mudblood you care about, hell; kill, rape and pillage across the muggle world for all I care, but you do not touch her. You start something with her, I will end you. Capiche?"

"Is that a threat?" the boy drew himself up haughtily.

"It's a promise," she returned, knowing the cliché should at least have some effect. "Spread it around Slytherin. She. Is. Off. Limits."

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"Look at that one, how can he not see that she is cheating on him with her?" Granger stated from her position next to Jasmine on a window-ledge overlooking the courtyard. Said ravenette swept her imperious gaze up from her book to look across at said couple.

"He does; they're both secret homosexuals going out with each other to keep appearances up-most likely since they're both pureblood and such things are heavily discouraged in magical society," she stated with an edge of boredom colouring her tone.

"Oh yes, his cuffs I'm guessing?"

"And his arms. All that muggle gay pornography he pays to have smuggled in, he doesn't have the money or time at present to buy proper shaving paraphernalia as he prefers."

"You two are ridiculous, has anyone ever mentioned that?" spoke up the mainly silent third member of their contingent-the brunette mostly having hung back to read a Herbology textbook as her friend indulged in people watching. "I still don't see how you can take the smallest of details and just…guess so much about them."

"It's not guesswork, Nadia, that's doing it a major injustice," Hermione pouted, "it's…never mind." Jasmine sent her a knowing look, and the Gryffindor grimaced, harking back to an old conversation about those not like themselves.

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"It's such a silly and commercialised holiday," Hermione stated as three sets of footsteps sounded along the corridor heading away from the Great Hall and to the library.

"It does hold cultural significance in the magical world, mostly among older pureblood families with ancient rites and rituals," Nadia commented.

"Yes, but the carved pumpkins and other such nonsense are muggle in origin," Jasmine returned drily, "enough children rot their teeth on this night of the year to keep Hermione's parents well in business."

"They do tend to do well after Halloween," the bushy-haired bibliophile relented. "But-," anything she was going to say petered out on her lips as they turned a corner and came face-to-face with a strange scene.

The floor was coated in water, reflecting the flickering torchlight upon the crimson letters glittering on the wall, and the statue-like cat hanging from a bracket.

"I-is that?" Nadia hesitantly asked.

"Blood? Yes, by the consistency and the colour, it couldn't be anything else," Jasmine answered automatically, scanning the wall with interest.

"Recent by the dripping, and the size and stroke, by hand?" Hermione ventured.

"Two fingers by the smearing, definitely not a brush," the ravenette confirmed. The pair were so caught up in examining the writing, that neither really noticed the hustle and bustle of approaching students, and it was only as shocked gasps and mutterings filled the corridor that they realised they were not alone. "Well this isn't looking good," Jasmine muttered, turning back to the bloody words daubed on the stone.

' _The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware_.'

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The library did not offer anywhere near as much information as Jasmine would have liked on the Chamber, only speculation not dissimilar to the rumours going around the school. And what she had heard of those did not fill her with confidence.

The Chamber of Secrets was an old legend, one barely documented, but well known to those who had been a part of Slytherin house apparently. The story went that Salazar had left the school after protesting as to muggleborns joining the school as students, and supposedly, before he left he created a secret room in the castle within which to store a monster. Said monster could only be let out and controlled by his true heir, and would 'cleanse' the castle of those not of pure blood.

For the most part, Jasmine had little care for blood purity, except that a majority of her clients were pure of blood, since they had a lot of money and darker leaning tendencies. She herself was a half-blood, though being the 'Girl-Who-Lived' made up for that somewhat politically it seemed.

Her fear, though, was Hermione. She was born amongst the muggles, and routinely pissed off the purebloods by having far higher grades than most of them, and flaunting the idea that blood purity affected how good a wizard or witch could be. She was directly the _most_ hated thing in the pureblood supremacist mind-set.

And so, here she was, in Pince's territory once more. And she was no closer to her goal of finding and eliminating whatever threat was posed to _her_ Hermione. She realised just how possessive she had been of late-Lockhart's recent demise being sad as she could no longer extract her satisfaction from him had echoed that point-but Hermione was just something so…different, she couldn't _bare_ life without her now that she had experienced it. It would all be so mind-numbingly dull and boring again, and after experiencing the alternative she could not return to that.

"Priorities," she muttered, closing the heavy tome with a blast of dust, "find and eliminate threat, most likely in the form of this 'heir.' Deal with monster if necessary. Stay out of the goat fucker's clutches. Simple." It was of course, anything but.

Still, no problem could withstand her formidable mind, of _that_ she was certain.

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"I needled McGonagall a bit for information on the Chamber, and a little else here and there," Hermione stated conspiratorially as they sat on the back row in the Charms classroom.

"What did you get?" Jasmine replied, her eyes not moving from Flitwick's short, animated frame.

"Legends of the chamber do date back to the Founder's times, and every head of school since has looked for it without finding anything. It was last opened in 1943, and a student was expelled after a girl died-muggleborn of course-but the monster supposedly escaped," the Gryffindor explained.

"Half of that's from Malfoy though, so don't get your hopes up," Nadia commented from beside Hermione.

"He believed what he was saying," Hermione argued.

"He believes a lot of things," the brunette said drily, "doesn't make them true."

"It's still information, regardless of its source," Jasmine relented.

"Thank-you, at least I have some support. Have you found anything?" Hermione inquired curiously.

"I spent some time going through records looking for the Slytherin family bloodlines," the ravenette replied, "the purebloods make such a big deal of their being pure that they keep very precise genealogy records."

"Of course, even my grandmother made me memorise the last four generations of my family," Nadia stated excitedly, "what did you find?"

"Nothing really useful," Jasmine said with annoyance, "the Slytherin line lasted a long while, but the last members – from a minor house named Gaunt – went extinct decades ago, with the last member dying in Azkaban in the seventies. I've been down a few other lines; a branch of the Black family that died out in the seventeenth century, and some others. There's only one possibility, and I find it doubtful."

"What is it?" the bushy haired Gryffindor asked immediately, "any possible information is useful."

"Well," the girl frowned, "there are two members unaccounted for of the bloodline. Arcturus Black the fourth, who was chucked out of the family after courting a muggle and decided to flee to the New World in 1790, where after there's no more information about him. The other is Anabelle Rosier-daughter of Marcelle Rosier nee Gaunt-who was discovered to be a squib at eleven and thrown into the muggle world or killed off in 1847, one of the two."

"They just turned the child away?" Hermione said incredulously.

"It does happen in some rare cases," Nadia said hesitantly, "among the nastier ones who don't want to admit to having a squib. Even then, quite a few people send the children away to muggle boarding schools, and a lot of squibs don't stay in the magical world."

"That's awful," the girl replied, horrified at the callousness of the world.

"That's the real world; things are rarely nice, and people rarely charitable," Jasmine stated off-handedly. "Anyway, my point was, although both of those lines could still survive-and I am going to check-I don't find them likely candidates as the heir."

"Why not?" Nadia queried.

"Well, any descendants will be impure of blood, or more likely, born amongst muggles. They're hardly the kind to champion blood purity and the extermination of muggleborns," she answered, "speaking of which, I've actually been forming a theory…"

"Oh?" Hermione turned eager eyes on her, always interested in new information.

"I was wondering if there's no such thing as muggleborns," she said simply, "at a guess, magic is usable through a certain recessive gene, or a specific allele, which is why its handed down in generations. If that's true, the number of muggleborns every year is too high to be evolution alone."

"You think they're descendants of squibs and those who left the magical world," the Gryffindor completed.

"I think it's definitely a possibility," she mused. "I was thinking of testing myself to find out with the type of magic Gringotts uses to certify your identity, since my mother was muggleborn."

"Isn't that blood magic?" Nadia stated, a slightly scared edge to her voice.

"Yes, but it's one of the few legal types. The old purebloods have got to be able to prove exactly how pure they are after all," the ravenette replied. "But that's getting off topic, and there's one other thing I found that is more important. Slytherin was a parselmouth, an ability passed down in bloodlines, specifically, _his_ bloodline, much the same way metamorphagi are part of the Black heritage, and seers and so on." She paused to allow the information to sink in for a moment. "If there is a beast or animal in the chamber, it would make sense if it was one he could control – and the legend says only his true _heir_ will be able to."

"Of course, if it was some kind of serpent, then he could give it commands – and so could his descendants," Hermione continued, easily catching on to the string of logic. "Well, that should help narrow it down."

"Not by as much as you'd think – there are numerous reptiles among the annals of mythology and magizoology; the hydra being the first that sprung to my mind, especially considering I found out cerburus' were real last year, but there's also dragons to consider, and there are dozens of breeds of those," Jasmine replied, frustration colouring her tone.

"Aren't parselmouths only supposed to be able to talk to snakes?" Nadia queried.

"It's not a well-documented subject," the ravenette remarked, "there hasn't been a recorded parselmouth for two centuries – most likely due to public links with dark magic and general secrecy – and with how similar snakes are with some of their reptilian cousins, I think it best not to rule anything out."

"Right, me and Nadia can head to the library after lunch to check out books on creatures if you want to continue your work with genealogy. Even you probably can't do both with how busy you apparently are," Hermione offered.

"Quiet in the back please, ladies, and pay attention, this will be tested at the end of this week," Flitwick called admonishingly from the front, finally noticing their little discussion.

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One of the advantages of being one of Gringotts' biggest clients – outclassed only by the long-standing pureblood families like the Malfoys, of whom a great deal of their wealth was in artefacts and property rather than straight up gold – was that when she desired something, the goblins went out of their way to provide her with what she might need.

And so, here she sat in her London office, with a sheet of vellum and a thin vial of purple potion sitting before her. With swift movements, she decided to end the suspense and flicked her Celtic knife from her voluminous sleeve, and pricked her finger. She held the digit over the open potion vial, and squeezed it to ply scarlet drops into the magical mixture. As soon as the first drop splashed in, the liquid turned a viridian green, but she did not stop until twelve drops had fully been entered into it. With a quick spell to heal the cut, she picked up the potion – swirling it around a little for good measure – before upending its small contents over the yellowed sheet.

It pooled a little, but did not splash, and was quickly absorbed into the enchanted vellum without a trace. After a few seconds, green lines began to appear, starting with a single name at the top of the page, flitting downwards with name after name for twelve full generations of her past, though in incredibly tiny text nearing the bottom.

With an analysing eye, she pulled a magnifying glass from a drawer of her desk, and set about the right hand side; the family on her mother's side. Down and down she went, searching for a recognisable name of some description.

When finally she did hit gold, her hand trembled and she dropped the magnifying glass. Jasmine leaned back in her seat, her eyes wide and mind reeling at the implications, even as a memory surfaced from her eidetic recollections:

Of a day, Dudley's birthday specifically, a number of years ago, where they had paid a visit to the zoo. As she had stared into the eyes of a huge snake, the boy had pushed her away and to the floor – somewhat painfully falling onto the concrete – and she had felt anger at him then. Suddenly, the glass of the cage had disappeared, and the fat child had stumbled backwards to fall upon his arse in fear as the thick, brown scaled snake slithered from its enclosure, turning those reptilian eyes on the ravenette.

"If you're looking for food, my cousin will taste a lot better than I will. And there's more of him," she had said, without really thinking. The snake had almost seemed to smile, before it slithered over to Dudley and began to wrap itself around him, doing exactly as its name suggested: constricting.

Of course, his screeching parents and various staff members managed to pull the reptile off of the rotund boy before he could suffocate, sadly, and she really got given hell for the event later from Vernon.

However, her mind couldn't help but return to the event as she picked up the magnifying glass and checked again the name, but a few seconds reminiscing hadn't changed the letters; Annabelle Smith, nee Rosier.

 **A/N: Not entirely sure where I'm going with this, but then I never am really. Anyway, until the next time.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This bloody chapter has been refusing to be written for a few months I think it is now, and I've had enough. Most of my plans are for after Hogwarts (the point at which I can have a proper Holmes and Moriarty) so from here on out, I'm going to be majorly rushing and condensing the school years. This will include binning various sub-plots and smaller ideas, which include extra stuff I was going to work in based on sexism as well as homophobia and Jasmine/Hermione facing adversity due to it, and a bunch of stuff relating to Luna (I love her, but she is goddamned difficult to write ). I may end up doing a year every one or two chapters from here; I just want to get Hogwarts years over and done with. Note, to read this plenty of things from the books are taken as read unless contradicted otherwise.**

 **EDIT 21/01/16: Gone back and made a few edits here and there - nothing more than a few words and typos mainly, nothing major.**

 **Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING, property of respective owners etc.**

Chapter 6

"Well, we can rule out a dragon for starters," Hermione said confidently, shifting books around on the library table. "They only live for a century maximum, so unless there's a full clutch down there breeding away, they can't be what we're looking for."

"Good, at least we know it isn't a fire-breathing monster," Nadia added with a tinge of relief.

"Don't count your blessings yet, it could still be a naga, or a hydra, or something else from mythology," Jasmine stated.

"True, but looking through all the known species, I'm certain we can rule out dragons. That's something, at least," Hermione defended herself. "Anyway, have you got anywhere with trying to trace the heir?"

"No, only dead ends," the ravenette replied after a moment, keeping her face carefully schooled. She was glad Hermione was facing away from her, or the girl might have picked something up. "I'm thinking of turning to the school population at-large, and just eliminating those who are impossible."

"What? Go through a list of everyone in school? That hardly sounds efficient," the bushy haired Gryffindor turned around with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, I've only been hitting dead ends as far as the heir is concerned, I don't have many options left. I would consider looking for the chamber itself, but even I recognise that I'm unlikely to be capable of working it out after scores of heads of school haven't," Jasmine replied.

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"Borgin and Burkes is the most important one," Jasmine pointed to the named shop on the map of Knockturn, "and one of the most well-known. We get them, and the rest will fall into line. The ones that don't, well, I'm sure Mr Greyback and his men can either get them to comply or remove them from the equation." She drew back up to leaning on the table, her two seconds across from her.

"We could try taking a few of the easier ones first, might make old man Borgin more likely to be persuaded," Scabior suggested.

"We need to be subtle," Jasmine replied, "build it up slowly so people don't realise how much we're taking over."

"Does our Employer have anything to say?" Greyback directed the question at her, deliberately using the same term she had a tendency to.

"He merely ordered that we get it done, so I daresay we should try not to disappoint him," she answered drily.

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"Colin Creevey," Hermione stated as she came up behind Jasmine, while the ravenette was sitting on 'their' windowsill. "He was brought into the infirmary late last night – petrified, just the same as Mrs Norris. The film from his camera apparently burst into flame."

"Sabotage of the footage?" Jasmine inquired.

"Perhaps, if the heir is directly ordering the monster around," the girl replied.

"But he was still petrified…" Jasmine trailed off, her book lying closed and forgotten as she considered something new. "Frozen, unable to move. Not unlike being turned to stone. And what mythical being could do that, perhaps one with snakes for hair?"

"Of course!" Hermione exclaimed, "The gorgons!"

"Medusa, technically," the ravenette corrected, "her two sisters couldn't turn anyone to stone, although they still looked much the same."

"I take back anything I said about myths and legends not being useful," the Gryffindor said drily, "come on, we can look up any magical roots in the library."

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"This says the legends around the gorgons are based on the then queen of the Lamia; Medusa II," Jasmine read out. "The myths originate from their people killing off those who would trespass on their island, which was accessed through a cave on the seaside by magic. They still live on this island hidden off the coast of Sicily to this day; a largely insular but peaceful society, and not one fond of humans."

"Anything about petrification?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"Nothing," the ravenette replied with a sense of frustration, slamming the book back down upon the table. "And what's more, they're sentient beings, and only about as short lived as humans. So they could neither survive in the chamber for centuries, nor would they take commands, nor are they monsters, and they cannot petrify people. Another dead end. I'm really starting to get annoyed by hearing that."

Of course, what she didn't mention was the information she'd found saying that the Slytherin bloodline still existed – running in her own veins – and that she had heard a voice the night before, slightly high-pitched and audibly hiss-like saying 'Kill, kill,' etcetera. Things just didn't add up about that, since she obviously wasn't controlling the monster, and she wasn't idiot enough to reveal to the school at large that she was Slytherin's heir, or even to Hermione. She couldn't risk the Gryffindor snooping into her life much, she might find out about Moriarty, and _that_ would be disastrous.

"Alright, it's time for plan B then," said Gryffindor declared.

"Hermione, are you sure that's a good idea?" Nadia inquired doubtfully, "even getting ahold of the ingredients."

"What?" Jasmine asked confusedly, off-kilter at the reveal of a plan she knew nothing of.

"We got to thinking last night that the Slytherins must know something, and the heir must be among their number," Hermione explained, "so, we thought on ways to infiltrate them and gain information. We surmised that polyjuice potion could be the solution." Jasmine raised her eyebrow at the name of the brew; it was easily a sixth year potion, and for the most part was banned because of how it could be abused – she should know, after all she paid for the doses of polyjuice in some of the more illegal sections of her brothel where heavily paying customers could have their way with their idols. It was slightly disturbing how much she herself was on request, but of course she wasn't averse to gaining no small amount of money for what amounted to simply removing a hair from her head, even if the whole thing was distasteful in the extreme. "Of course, the downside is it takes a month to brew."

"You're quite nonchalant about doing this, you know," the Ravenclaw said with a slight hint of amusement – the perfect bookworm of Gryffindor leaving the angel's path and breaking many rules, even laws. Not that she didn't approve, of course, she was in-fact in favour of the girl coming more around to her way of thinking one step at a time. "Are you aware of what happens if we are caught?"

"I can probably pass off brewing it as academic interest to study the effects," the bushy-haired girl waved her off, "either way, are you in?" The expectant look in those blue eyes made her smile while nodding her head once.

"If you can get the potion brewed, I suppose so," it might even give her some information that she hadn't got from the grape-vine. "However, like you said; a month to brew. Since identifying the heir seems to be fruitless, I'm going to have a look at records from 1943 and try to determine what happened last time."

"That's a good idea, now, if you'll excuse me, we've got potions next, and I'm going to need to cook up a distraction so I can sneak into Snape's store-room," the Gryffindor stood.

##############################################################################################

"How did you even get those?" Nadia inquired as Jasmine held up two golden and brown hairs between her fingers.

"Trade secrets," she replied, handing the brunette one over to the girl, while keeping the blonde for her own, "and I know both Davis and Greengrass will be occupied in their study sessions with a few Ravenclaws for the next hour and a half."

"More subtle than me; I just gave Bulstrode a sleeping and forgetfulness draft and shoved her in a cupboard," Hermione stated, holding her own black strand before dunking it in her bubbling glass of liquid. The brown sludge turned muddier quickly, taking on a mossy tinge. Adding their own, Nadia ended up with a coal-black slime, and Jasmine's turned a disconcertingly bloody and viscous red, madly bubbling.

She supposed that it fit their various personalities; Greengrass was an ambitious manipulator, looking for a rich, powerful and easy to control husband through which she could access politics, hence succubus red; Davis was the half-blood on the outside of the snake pit's social circles, befriending only Daphne, and was the one most likely to learn dark magic and be like Snape in their year; and Millicent was just a bit thick presumably.

"Bottoms up," Nadia declared, necking her glass of slime. Jasmine briefly glanced down at her own brew, before deciding to get it over with and tipping it down her throat.

At first taste, it was the most disgusting thing to have ever entered her mouth. It burned like mad on contact with her soft flesh, and was flavoured like spoiled eggs and bad wine, with a hint of the same bloody, coppery tang that its colour would have suggested. A clattering smash was heard as the ravenette realised she had dropped her glass as she gasped for air, doubling over with her eyes bulging out and her stomach churning.

Two more smashes of breaking glass and hacking indicated she wasn't alone.

"I think I'm going to be sick," two voices declared at the same time, and Jasmine just turned in time to see two sets of red-trimmed robes enter toilet stalls.

Turning in front of her, she stumbled to the basins, desperate for water to wash the awful taste out of her mouth. She froze, however, as she regarded the mirror in which she was reflected, her skin bubbling and flowing like melting wax.

Her features quickly became less sharp and pale, rosy cheeks and full lips forming. Her height increased a little, making the seams on her uniform protest at the sudden unexpected pressure, and her body became visibly a bit fuller rather than lithe as Jasmine was. Finally, in a ripple her hair changed from black to blonde, perfectly shaped and touching her shoulders.

With a hesitant hand, she pressed fingers to her face – not even noticing the aftertaste was gone – as teal eyes stared back at her from the silvered surface. She knew what polyjuice potion did in theory, but to actually experience it was beyond disconcerting.

She was distracted as a door slammed open from the toilets behind her, and she spun to see Tracy Davis walk past her, brown eyes focused on the mirror in the bathroom.

"Bloody Merlin," Nadia said in Tracy's voice.

"Bit of a kick to it," Jasmine replied with her own haughty tone. She was well used to playing a pureblood aristocrat, so this should be a doddle.

"You can say that again," the girl all but whispered, touching her face in much the same way she had done.

"How about you, Hermione?" Jasmine called, facing the cubicles again, "how does it feel to be Millicent Bulstrode?"

"It feels…big," came the reply, and the girl walked out of her own toilet. Indeed, Bulstrode was meaty and thick-built, very much straining Hermione's robes. There was little wonder why she was oft compared to Crabbe and Goyle. "And my hair's all short."

"Well, it was either her or Pansy Parkinson, and do you really want to have to fawn over your dear Draky-poo?" Nadia replied with a smile, looking downright evil on Tracy's face.

"Merlin, no," the girl said with a shiver.

"Well, then," Jasmine declared as she waved her wand, casting a glamour to turn her blue trim green, "shall we go break some more school rules?"

##############################################################################################

"I did tell you," Jasmine stated as the threesome moved in an old classroom near the dungeons already removing the glamours on her robes as the polyjuice fully wore off, "Malfoy just isn't capable of it. Not yet at least."

"Yes, alright, I misjudged," Nadia admitted, throwing her hands in the air, "but even you admitted it was likely to be someone in Slytherin."

"Likely, but not definite," the ravenette replied, "however, we can be fairly sure after observing so many members of the house, and their speculation, that the heir is either not a Slytherin, or a good enough actor to fool bot-all of us." Jasmine quickly corrected herself; Hermione didn't like her insulting Nadia to her face. "So, we have eliminated the impossible."

"And whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth," Hermione completed, "the heir is in one of the other houses."

"Most likely, yes. Which also means they're good at hiding or above suspicion."

"Thoughts?"

"Most likely Ravenclaw or Gryffindor," Jasmine stated bluntly.

"Mm, I can see Ravenclaw; small groups of tight-knitted persons, lots of loners, easy to be unnoticeable as everyone keeps to themselves," Hermione pondered.

"And Gryffindors are easy to radicalise if in the right light," Jasmine added, "you must have noticed how many of the 'light' families still look down upon squibs and muggles, and are incredibly dismissive of muggle culture; just look at the supposed 'experts' of Arthur Weasley and Charity Burbage. If you tried to tell them people set foot on the Moon with technology, they'd laugh."

"Wait, what?" Nadia butted in with wide eyes, "the Moon?"

"On July 20th, 1969, the Apollo 11 spacecraft landed on the Moon, with three men aboard. In the following three years, five more expeditions landed on the Moon," Jasmine rattled off, "muggles have been going into Space for decades, and they're currently working on manned missions to Mars, and the possibilities of establishing a colony there. I believe the Ares group plan to send the first expedition to land in 2035."

"They did that _without magic_ ," Nadia stated, evidently gobsmacked. Both Jasmine and Hermione sighed, the former looking to the stony ceiling for a moment before replying.

"Yes, and a dozen things more besides," Jasmine stated somewhat exasperatedly, "they have certainly advanced far more than wizards in the last few centuries."

##############################################################################################

"What do you want? Here to throw another book at my head?" the spectre screeched, "Oh, let's all throw books at Myrtle because she can't feel it! Five points if it goes through her stomach, ten points if it goes through her head!" She emphasised her exclamations by punching ghostly fists through Jasmine, creating a cold, clammy feeling where she touched.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," the ravenette replied curtly, "why would anyone throw books at you, anyway?"

"How should I know?" Myrtle yelled before floating angrily away towards the toilet stalls.

"Miss Warren," Jasmine exclaimed as the girl was halfway phased through the white door. The flinch as she stilled was easily visible, practically jerking her shoulders up.

"What did you say?" she replied quietly, a quiver in her voice.

"Myrtle Elisabeth Warren, that is your name isn't it?"

" _How do you know that name_?" Myrtle demanded, in a voice barely above a whisper, slowly turning around in mid-air with wide eyes behind her round glasses.

"Myrtle Elisabeth Warren, born 18th of August 1929, died 13th of June 1943," Jasmine placed a hand upon her hip, eyeing the ghost speculatively.

"No-one," the everlasting teenager said hoarsely, "has called me that in a very long time."

"Well you don't talk to many people," Jasmine replied. "I'm here to ask about when you died."

"Why do you want to know?" the girl asked, cocking her head to the side.

"Have you not being paying attention to the events in the castle? The petrifications? Didn't the same thing happen in the months leading to your death?"

"I don't know," the girl said petulantly, making the ravenette frown, "don't you know anything about ghosts? Most of our lives fade from memory; we're shades of who we were. Only personality and important memories stay…" the latter part was said in a more normal, morose tone for the melancholy spectre.

"Right," the one living person in the room massaged her temples, "that's annoying. Though I'd assume your death would be an important memory."

"Oh yes, I remember that," Myrtle said eagerly, "it was _awful_." For a traumatic event, she sounded delighted to talk about it. "It happened over there, in that cubicle," she pointed to one of the green painted toilet stalls, "I was in there crying after that bitch Olive Horny had been mocking me about my glasses, when I heard someone come in. They started speaking in some silly made-up language and I realised it sounded like a boy. I opened the door to tell him to _go away_ , and then…I died." Strange language most likely meant Parseltongue, confirming that theory, but wasn't there more than that?

"That's it?" Jasmine asked.

"All the rest I remember is seeing a pair of big, yellow eyes," the girl said, looking into the middle distance.

"Well thanks, that's a real bloody help," the ravenette said scathingly, "a pair of big eyes, and the sound of a boy. Well that narrows things down to half the population of the school and just about any creature." She had been looking for something useful; a week ago, Justin Finch-Fletchley and Nearly Headless Nick had been petrified, the numbers were racking up.

The ghost scowled, and made a wailing sound as she fled, slamming back into a toilet with an eruption of water. Jasmine only just backed away in time to avoid being drenched, instead standing to the side as a small black tome floated its way over on the deluge. With a frown of curiosity, she picked it up, taking in the unmarked worn leather and slightly yellowed pages. With a hint of interest, she flipped the front page over to see written: 'Property of Tom Riddle' in neat cursive script.

Tom Riddle…

Where did she know that name? A brief search of her mental library produced a volume entitled 'Hogwarts Graduating Class: 1944' and flipping through a pair of pages in showed the head-boy: Tom Riddle.

Interesting.

If this was his, what, diary perhaps? It may contain information on the events of the last time the Chamber was opened, when this boy was in sixth year. Flicking through the pages produced a frown on her face, however, as each and every one was blank. Assuming that perhaps the entries were hidden – not exactly unlikely on something as personal as a diary – she pocketed the book, and stalked from the room. At least she'd gained _some_ information from this little event.

##############################################################################################

"Hm," exclaimed Jasmine as she stared at the obstinate book. She was ensconced in one of Hogwarts' many unused classrooms, facing the desk upon which the black tome rested open at the first blank page. Every revealing spell she had found, and things like 'finite incantatum' were doing nothing. A few other spells denoted the book to definitely be enchanted to some degree, as it had a large amount of ambient magic centred around it.

With a brief moment of inspiration, she cast a lesser-known charm for detecting blood magic she had discovered in one of her books from Mr Borgin, frowning as it failed to give a positive result.

With an annoyed harrumph, she stuck her holly wand back up her sleeve into its holster, staring once more at the blank pages. Her eyes widened as black ink slowly spread across the top of the page, and she leaned over to read it;

' _Are you quite finished?_ ' it read in green ink and the same neat script from the nametag, before vanishing a few moments later. Frowning, she reached into her bag and withdrew an inkpot and her raven-feather quill.

' _Depends_ ,' she wrote out, watching as a few seconds later the word vanished and was replaced.

' _Upon what, exactly?_ '

What the hell was this? Was she communicating with someone else via two books that showed what was written in the other? Or could she be communicating with the book itself…

She'd never heard of such a thing, but with magic practically anything was possible.

' _Whether you're going to divulge the information I require,_ ' she replied.

' _Well, that depends._ ' She practically groaned aloud at the response, clearly a dig at her own previous words.

' _Upon what, exactly?_ ' she repeated his own line back to him.

' _Who you are, and what you want to know._ '

' _My name is unimportant, but yours is Tom Marvolo Riddle, correct?_ ' She took the fact the ink didn't instantly disappear as the book thinking, ' _you were head-boy of the 1944 class at Hogwarts_.'

' _Yes I am and was_ ,' Tom eventually replied, and didn't Jasmine feel weird thinking of a book by a name.

' _Then I wish to know of the events of your sixth year. Can you tell me anything about the Chamber of Secrets?_ '

' _No_ ,' flashed onto the page and Jasmine's heart sank at the idea of another false lead before seeing the rest, ' _but I can show you_.'

And with that, a slamming force overcame her unprepared occlumency barriers and the ravenette felt a tugging sensation in her mind.

##############################################################################################

"Well, that was interesting," Jasmine said aloud as she picked her head up off the desk from where she had slumped in the little memory dump, glad to see colour properly once again rather than the bleached look of Riddle's memories, during which she had not said a word, merely observing.

And she had certainly learnt a lot.

With a careful eye, she gazed back down at the innocent looking book, before picking her quill up once more.

' _I'll confess, I had wondered why Hagrid was expelled_ ,' she wrote.

' _Nothing was ever proven, since the monster escaped, but his wand was snapped and he likely would have gone to Azkaban had Dumbledore not taken him on as groundskeeper_.'

' _Yes, he was the only one who doubted your lies._ ' Riddle remained very 'silent' after that before eventually speaking again.

' _Pardon?_ '

' _I would appreciate if you didn't take me for a fool; the monster of the Chamber of Secrets is no spider, and your body posture made it obvious that you were intentionally lying at points_.' Jasmine wrote out, feeling an immense sense of satisfaction at this discovery, and decided to test him with a deduction; 'you _were the heir of Slytherin_.' All of a sudden, once more a probe slammed its way into Jasmine's head, but this time she was more prepared. Her outer defences crumbled of course, but as soon as he tried to press further – instead of simply pushing his memory through as the previous time – he encountered problems. Closing her eyes, the ravenette moved to confront him.

##############################################################################################

"Hello Tom," she stated calmly, watching as the teen in Hogwarts robes spun to see her leaning against a wall in her own.

"What is this?" he demanded, spinning around at what looked distinctly like the entrance hall of Hogwarts.

"My mindscape, welcome!" she spread her arms, "congratulations, you're inside my head, now what do you do?" With anger, he stepped over towards her to attack her. She simply rolled her eyes and caught his fist as he swung it, tipping forwards to break it, and making him elicit a bark of pain. "Oh quiet down, it's an imaginary break with a few of my own memories of the pain, not that you even have any real limbs to harm. Which actually leads on to the question of just what are you? You actually seem capable of conversation, showing me memories, and now invading my mind, that's a bit beyond the norm for an inanimate object."

"I am going to break you, girl," he growled out.

"No, you're going to leave," the joviality left her tone, and she closed her eyes to concentrate on a pair of suits of armour walking from their pedestals to grab Riddle by his arms. With a further flick of her hand, the great front doors of Hogwarts opened to display a dazzling whiteness beyond.

"How are you doing this?" shouted Riddle as he was frogmarched to the entryway.

"Visualisation and ordering of one's own mind. Here, I can do whatever I wish, and you don't have the time needed to figure your way around things," she replied, mentally moving the armour to boot him out, his body disappearing once it hit the ethereal exit.

Shaking her mental head, she withdrew from her mindscape and concentrated on her real body once more.

##############################################################################################

The black book sat innocently before her once more as she opened her eyes. With a smirk, she flicked out her wand, and transfigured the wooden desk it rested upon into a box around it, which she then proceeded to lay locking charm upon locking charm upon.

"There, I think that'll do until I can carve some warding runes on you," she muttered, picking up the box. "At least until I can work out just what you are."

##############################################################################################

"Well that's intriguing," Jasmine muttered as she looked over the listings of profit and customers at Madame Rosa's, "a few ministry officials. Any regulars?"

"A couple," the Brothel Madam replied, touching her finger to some of the names on the list, "there's a few notes there for potential blackmail material as well."

"Very good," the ravenette said with a smile, "I think now would be a good time to start ensnaring a few customers with certain substances, get them addicted to the muggle drugs we're the only ones supplying. I'll talk to Scabior about supply."

##############################################################################################

"Sir?" the dark skinned professor looked up in surprise at her call, clearly not expecting to see the three girls staying behind.

"Now girls, you're not supposed to be apart from everyone else. With all the goings on recently, it's for your own protection," the man admonished. "with all the recent petrifications, and Dumbledore leaving, it's best to not take chances." He was right to an extent; both Justin Finch-Fletchley and Nearly Headless Nick being attacked had riled things up. That the monster could affect even a ghost had scared plenty of the pupils, not to mention the staff. Of course, Jasmine had mixed feelings about seeing the old meddler leave. Granted, she hated him, but she had to admit he was the most likely to be capable of dealing with the monster.

"We know sir, but we wanted to ask you a few questions," Jasmine entreated, hoping to play up the favourite student card – she did have the highest defence scores in the year – beating out Hermione by the kind of regular margin she only received elsewhere in potions, and that Hermione had over her similarly in transfiguration.

"What about, Miss Potter?" the Professor inquired with a raised eyebrow – the only hair he had on his bald head.

"Well, we know you're originally from Tanzania," she began in reply.

"I'm surprised you can trace my accent that well," he stated with a chuckle, to which Jasmine made a dismissive hand gesture.

"Intuition," she said simply, "well, since that continent is well-known for snakes, we were wondering what you could tell us about any magical serpents you know of originating from Africa?" With a frown, Shacklebolt leant back in his chair with his eyes trained on her.

"You're trying to work out what Slytherin's monster is," he stated, watching the single nod she gave intently, "well, I hate to disappoint, but while Africa is known for many mundane species of snake, it is somewhat lacking on the magical side of things. The only one I can think of off the top of my head is the Emberscale, which is a rather small snake known for breathing fire. Apart from that…well, magical Africa is not known for reptiles, more for creatures like the Nundu. No, I'm afraid the place to find that sort of thing is South America and its rainforests; that's supposedly where the basilisk came from and such."

"Basilisk, sir?" Hermione asked with interest, speaking up for the first time as she couldn't keep in her desire to know more.

"Yes, nasty things," the man continued, "and very dangerous. They are highly venomous, and their eyes kill if you look directly into them. I've heard curse breakers in that part of the world live in fear of them guarding some old ruin or another."

"Thank-you sir," Jasmine stated, bowing a little, "sorry for wasting your time." She ignored the looks sent at her by the other two, and pulled them from the classroom.

"Did you hear what he said?" Hermione hissed in excitement as soon as they were outside.

"Yes, of course I did," Jasmine replied, "old ruins; as in traps in them, as in placed there by the builders, as in survived for that length of time."

"That gives it the longevity we're looking for," Hermione exclaimed.

"Wait, he said it was deadly. There was nothing there to imply petrification; a basilisk would just kill its prey, wouldn't it?" Nadia asked confusedly. Not for the first time – and she doubted for the last – Jasmine wondered how people could _listen_ but not _hear_ so often.

"Its gaze, he said 'directly.' None of the victims has seen it directly," the ravenette stated what had been an easy deduction for her.

"Justin saw it through Nearly Headless Nick," Hermione continued, counting off one on her fingers.

"Nick can't die again, obviously, since he's already dead," Jasmine added.

"Colin saw it through his camera, lots of mirrors reflecting the image inside, and the film was destroyed by it."

"And Mrs Norris, she must have seen the reflection on the water in the corridor," the Ravenclaw surmised finally. "With magic, slightly changing an aspect of something can alter the effects. The victims don't look the basilisk in the eye…"

"They're just petrified because of the reduction in power," Hermione completed. "Do you still have the book on 'Creatures from New World,'?"

"By Newt Scamander?" the girl briefly brought up an image of her room, the book being near the bottom of a pile recently taken from the library, "yes, it's in my dorm. I'll run up there; you two see what you can find in the library."

"Wait," Hermione exclaimed, rifling a hand through her pocket before she pulled out three buttons. With a quick transfiguration, three simple hand-mirrors rested in her grasp, and she handed one to each of her companions. "Look around corners first; you don't know when the monster might be there."

"Thank-you," she replied, taking the silver piece gratefully, having overlooked that idea.

"No problem, I'd rather my friends not die on me," the bushy-haired girl said with a slight smile on her face.

##############################################################################################

 _She didn't want to do it, she was honestly trying to resist with all her little soul, like she did the day before. It had taken all her courage as a Gryffindor to slam the book into the toilet, but it hadn't stopped Tom._

 _No, nothing stopped him._

 _He had shouted at her, in her head, as she stalked away from the bathroom, the voice going quieter as she reached her dorms and lay down to silently cry. She'd thought she'd won, pushed him off her back._

 _As if things would be that easy._

 _He had sent her an image, and the thoughts of what was happening._ Jasmine _bloody_ Potter _with the diary. The Girl-Who-Lived. She was in danger from him. She had to get it away from her._

 _She was inside Ravenclaw tower before she even noticed, looking around suddenly at the surroundings. There she was waylaid by an old friend, who distracted her with talk of strange imaginary creatures infesting her brain._

 _She knew the only creature that was in her brain, and he was very much real._

 _Her mouth moved on auto-pilot, making sounds of conversation while her mind was being dragged upstairs where she could_ feel _him. He was so close; his voice so strong in her ear._

 _She could eventually stand it no longer, and made to leave the tower, waiting until she was in the entryway before surreptitiously casting a notice-me-not charm and turning back around. Tom had taught her that charm, in order to…_

 _She didn't remember._

 _She wasn't sure she wanted to, either._

 _Her footsteps were light and quick as she darted up the stairs, bursting into the blessedly empty dorm._

 _She looked everywhere, feeling him so close, until she found the box. A simple 'Alohamora' did nothing, and in her frustration she slammed her pale hand down on the wood._

 _With a crack, both it and her hand broke. She gave a keen of pain, before it was pushed away by the flooding sensation of Tom as she gazed upon the worn black leather within._

 _And then everything went black._

 **A/N I was originally going to cover a bit more in this chap, but I felt like adding the ending because I liked it. Even if everyone does know who 'she' is. I am sorry for the lack of updates just generally, I don't think I've uploaded anything since late November, and that's because I had a very, very busy December which consumed a lot of my time. It is also slightly strange to see how in-demand this is; more than ten thousand views, and over two-hundred favourites and follows. It's quite overwhelming. I've got a few things that may be winging their way to my profile page, as well as continuation of this, so stay tuned.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I would like to take a moment of respect as many others have done for Alan Rickman. Even when playing people we were supposed to despise, you never failed to bring a character to life, or to make us smile. You have always been, and will remain to be, amongst the truly greatest of actors. Rest in Peace, Alan.** **A reviewer pointed out a few chapters ago that in canon, Hermione's eyes are brown. Well, since I've already written it in, and I like the comparison with Sherlock, I'm keeping it. It's hardly the most AU part of this story.**

 **Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING, property of respective owners etc.**

Chapter 7

It took agonisingly long to reach the Ravenclaw common room, having to slow down from her running to look around corners with her mirror first, but eventually she got to the eagle knocker, and answered the brief riddle it gave.

Upon entering, it took her a few seconds to notice the stares being directed her way as she walked across the common room. When Morag came down the stairs from the dorms and upon noticing her took a pitying expression, she grew slightly concerned.

"What?" she asked carefully.

"I'm sorry, I don't know who did it," the redhead said with her slight Scottish lilt.

Pushing past her impatiently, and with concern on the brain, she legged it up the stairs to their open dorm-room door. What was inside stilled her heart.

Two of the female prefects stood around the complete mess that was her area of the room; her pillows and duvet thrown off the bed, and even the mattress shifted off the frame. What really caught her eye however was the open trunk with a broken lock, and her belongings strewn everywhere. With a quick movement, she stepped over to look inside, and felt her heart resume beating again as the false bottom containing various things she would prefer remain secret was still in place.

Gaining a confused look as she furrowed her brows, she looked around to see if anything was missing. Why would anyone rifle through her things in this way?

And then her eyes set upon splintered remains of a box. The diary she had found in Myrtle's bathroom yesterday, and then locked up. She hadn't considered protecting the transfigured box from being physically smashed to pieces. The lock from the front was visibly still intact, with a piece of the lid and base attacked to show it was still locked. What a fat lot of use that lock did.

Her mind reeled at a ten-to-the-dozen; why would someone take the enchanted diary?

Concentrating, she moved her mind to the prior night, searching events and thinking. Why would someone go to these lengths to regain a diary? A diary of someone who was quite possibly the last…

Oh.

 _Oooooooooooooh._

"Shit," she muttered under her breath, before moving to run from the room. She stopped only once as she remembered to grab the book lying by the door, and then ran downstairs, ignoring the calls of the prefects.

#####################################################################################

In her mad dash to the library, frustratingly checking around every corner, she was forced to stop when someone called out to her. Spinning on her heel, she set heated eyes upon Hogwarts' resident Transfiguration Professor and temporary Headmistress.

"Yes?" she said quickly, not caring for formalities right now. The old woman frowned at her lack of decorum, but didn't comment on it.

"I believe you may wish to accompany me to the Hospital Wing, Miss Potter," she stated.

"Why?" she replied warily.

"I'm afraid your friend Miss Gran-," that was as far as she got before Jasmine had turned tail and ran like her life depended upon it towards the domain of Madame Pompfrey.

#####################################################################################

With little care the ravenette slammed open the wide doors to the Hospital Wing, spying the school nurse stepping out from behind a set of green curtains, she ran over and stopped at the sight within.

"Oh, Hermione," she breathed out, looking at the statue-like body on the bed, paused in what looked like mid stride, her head turned slightly to the side and her hand outstretched.

She barely heard the sound of the curtain closing behind her as the nurse gave her some privacy as she approached and flopped down into the wooden chair set by the bed. With a heavy heart, she clasped the unmoving, clenched left hand, the flesh hard and unyielding. Her eyes closed, and Jasmine tried not to tremble with the rage she was feeling, cursing under her breath in a way that would make many sailors blush or take notes.

With a sigh, she opened her emerald eyes once more and looked at the frozen face. In a split-second decision, she moved over and pressed her lips softly to Hermione's, pressing down for a single second before pulling away.

"I'll deal with this, don't you worry," she whispered while staring into her blue orbs. She gave one final squeeze to the girl's hand as she made to move away, before pausing at the rustle of crushed paper.

With curious fingers, she just about managed to prise the girl's clenched fingers apart and remove the crumpled parchment. Unfolding it revealed a page torn from a book – which was strange all on its own to have the bibliophile defile a book – containing information on the basilisk. Scanning down the page revealed how they were created, that they lived for hundreds of years, spiders fled before them, their venom killed in roughly thirty seconds, and their stare was deadly. And finally at the bottom of the page, in Hermione's neat writing was a single word.

' _Pipes_.'

"Oh, you clever girl," Jasmine whispered as the last pieces slotted into place in her head. "One day, you're going to make a great detective."

With those parting words, she stood, and took a deep breath as she looked down upon the unmoving body of the one person who mattered to her in the world.

And she let the rage fill her to the brim.

As she strode back through the Hospital wing, she didn't even answer the nurse's question about the mirror Hermione had been grasping, and the matching one in her own pale hand.

She also ignored the announcement magically broadcast through the castle by McGonagall.

All she did was take the mirror she held, and with a flick of her wand transfigured it into something she was more familiar with; a pair of reflective aviators, with black lenses and a silver frame, slotting them onto her face without breaking her pace.

They may not have the same enchantments as her normal pair, but they gave her strength, they gave her confidence. Of course they may also work against the Basilisk stare, being reflective and lenses, but hopefully that wouldn't need testing.

"Today you die, Riddle," she said under her breath. A threat, a vow and a promise.

#####################################################################################

The bathroom stood much as it always had; no basilisk slithering around up here at the current time. With quick steps, she moved over towards Myrtle's favourite stall – the one she died in – and looked away, finding herself staring at the sinks centred around a pillar in the middle of the room.

Turning the taps of the closest basin did nothing, and she looked over it carefully before spotting an embossed snake on the worn bronze. Concentrating upon it as she had attempted to do during a few times since she discovered her heritage, she hissed;

" _Open_."

With a grinding noise, the sink sank in to the ground, joined by its fellows as the pillar moved up into the ceiling. All this revealed a long, winding tube of burnished bronze. With a frown, Jasmine tilted her head, before moving over to and opening a window.

"Accio school broom," she incanted, glad that she knew the summoning charm after learning to regain her wand wandlessly. After about a minute, the wooden shape could be seen flying towards her from the direction of the Quidditch pitch, and she caught it as it got close, surveying the beaten up broom. "It'll do," she eventually relented, and set it between her legs before jumping down the wide pipe.

She couldn't go too quickly, of course, but she went as fast as she dared, brushing her feet on each bend before finally exiting in a large, dark and damp room, the air cold but wet like the interior of a cave.

Slowly, she landed, looking down as the floor crackled a bit beneath her. She wrinkled her nose at the sight of innumerable skeletons of rats and other small creatures. After cast a few silencing charms on her feet to prevent noise, she leaned the broom up against the pipe exit.

She then withdrew, from around her neck, a small pouch made of mokeskin. With another whispered incantation, the bag opened slightly to allow her to summon her Ebony wand, which she slipped up her sleeve, her invisibility cloak, which she donned quickly, and the Hand of Glory, with which she lit the candle with bluebell flames and brought under her cloak, glad for the ability to see more clearly, while not giving away her position.

Her effects gathered, and wand out, she stalked into the nearest open pipe, her mind on a single track in desire for one thing only.

Her passage down the pipe was uninterrupted, the only noise being the occasional drip of water from here-or-there. That is, until she reached another large room with multiple pipes entering it, and a large vault-like door on the opposite wall. Moving out from the hinge into the circle was a whole cluster of metal snakes, presumably keeping the door locked.

" _Open_ ," she hissed once more, watching as another snake wove its way along the outside of the door, causing the others to retract and the portal to swing open.

Carefully, she stepped through to behold the ostentatious sight beyond.

The Chamber proper was like a Cathedral, the shadows obscuring the roof but giving the impression of a tall ceiling. Down the length, the central way forward was lined on each side by a long pool of water, out of which stood stone snake statues with green flames in their hollow eyes. And of course, at the far end of the chamber was a giant face with a scraggly beard, carved into the stonework like that of Mount Rushmore. Presumably, the oversized bust represented Slytherin himself.

However, halfway along the strip was her point of interest; a body lying on the floor in black student robes, and the faded looking male teen standing beyond her facing the bust of Slytherin.

Slowly, Jasmine crept closer, shoving the Hand of Glory back into her pouch and being careful to make no noise. When she was close enough to be perhaps a half-metre behind the girl on the floor, she pushed her wand a little outside of her cloak.

"Incarcerous," she whispered sending ropes flying towards Riddle. She resisted the urge to curse as they flew straight through his apparently ethereal body. With quick reflexes, he had spun and pointed his own wand in the direction of the ropes.

"Expelliarmus," he said quickly, and Jasmine's wand was ripped from her hand into his. He gave a triumphant smirk as he looked at the piece of holly wood in his other hand.

"Jasmine Potter, welcome to my triumph," he sneered out.

Deciding she had little to gain from it, Jasmine pulled off her cloak and shoved the conveniently shrinkable fabric that bent to her needs into her pocket.

"Riddle," she stated in return. "So this is who you were possessing all year." She used her foot to roll over the girl, spying the red-trim and splayed crimson hair. That Weasley, the first girl in their huge family. Ginevra. "Had a feeling it was a Gryffindor."

She knelt down next to the body under the pretence of trying to wake her up, while surreptitiously drawing her ebony wand.

"Yes, little Ginny Weasley was all too happy to pour her heart out to her diary, feeding me every little secret and confiding herself in me while I pushed myself into her," he declared. She said nothing, feeling perfectly happy to let him monologue. Honestly, she may be a villain who enjoyed theatrics, but even she knew better than to divulge her 'master plan' while allowing the enemy free movement. Honestly, it was the very definition of both clichéd and utterly moronic. "And through her I continued the great work of Salazar Slytherin that I did fifty years ago."

"Didn't achieve much; no mudbloods dead yet," she stated as her concealed right hand drew in Futhark behind her back. Runic Casting was technically outlawed in Great Britain as it came under the heading of 'dark magic,' and most likely for the very reasons she was using it for.

"Ah, just luck on their behalf, and I'll be sure to rectify it in future, but it is not of primary concern," he turned those dark eyes upon her, "no, Ginny imparted to me information that gave me a new obsession; you."

"Why me?" she replied, trying to keep the conversation going as she started drawing the second rune. It was a bit of a pain doing this without looking, and writing them backwards, but nothing she was incapable of.

"I wanted to know how a child, a _girl_ , could defeat the greatest wizard of all time!" he sneered once more.

"Voldemort?" Jasmine cocked her head, allowing a little of her genuine interest to shine through, "why would he matter to you? He didn't emerge until long after you were at Hogwarts." Here, he gained an evil grin, triumph glittering in his eyes.

"Lord Voldemort is my past, present, and future," he declared, as he used the Cherrywood wand in his right hand – presumably Ginny's – to write fiery letters into the air in angular text. 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' with a flick of his wand became 'I am Lord Voldemort.'

"Ah, that actually makes a fair bit of sense," she replied nonchalantly, though inside her head gears were turning, she just didn't have the time to process it right now, "I mean, I knew Voldemort was a pseudonym – 'Flight From Death,' really? – but I'll confess to being amused that the great leader of the pureblood revolution is at least a half-blood rather than a member of the noble houses." That seemed to really rile him up as he grew truly angry.

"Why do you think I abandoned my filthy muggle father's name, you little brat?" he roared. "I believe it is time you learned some manners. Perhaps we should match the might of Lord Voldemort against Jasmine Potter." With that he turned, and looked to the statue, " _Speak to me O' greatest of the Hogwarts Four,_ " he declared, and absently Jasmine realised he was intoning in Parseltongue as the mouth of Salazar's bust began to creak and slide open. Frantically, Jasmine finished up the third and final rune, and flicked her wand forward to in-front of her while the moron was turned away.

"Expelliarmus," she said quickly, catching the surprised man's captive wands in her left hand in a move that surprised herself with her own hand-eye coordination. With a second speedy movement before he could recover, she again flicked her ebony wand, this time gesturing from behind her and dragging forward the three runes rotating about a single point at the tip of her wand. "Gehenne Ignitia."

The stream of orange and red flame, bordering on white at its centre was not unlike a fire hydrant in the way it streamed a high-velocity spray of blazing pyro-maniacal wonder. It spread quickly, a herd of Griffons stampeding outwards even as a giant dragon flew upwards to the height of the roof. And the heat was something else, even with the rune designed to protect the user that she had drawn, she definitely felt the effects of the inferno.

Said runes were to control this spell, since Fiendfyre was notorious as being easy to cast and incredibly destructive, before very, very quickly spiralling out of control and consuming _everything_ around. She felt it should be more than capable of cooking the basilisk in its hide, but there was nothing quite like overkill.

Said runes glowed golden as she forced power into them, keeping them active even as the enchanted fire consumed the room beyond; any vision of which had been blocked almost immediately, though she believed she briefly heard a roar of pain and saw snakes of fire originate from where Riddle had been, although that could have been her imagination. Each glyph had a different function: the top one provided a shield to the user, preventing the fire from rolling backwards upon the summoner; the right hand one was designed to allow control to the user, making them assert their will over the flames on where it was going to go and do; and finally, the left one was for ending the spell, and sending the blaze back whence it came once its job was done.

After a full thirty seconds of the blistering heat, Jasmine decided said job was indeed finished, and enforced her iron will upon the inferno.

Screeches were heard as fiery animals protested being dragged backwards from their destructive path, white flames moving back inwards through the tip of her ebony wand. A bead of sweat trickled down Jasmine's brow before evaporating as her mind fought with the uncompromising animalistic desire of the Fiendfyre to consume, guiding and pulling the blaze down to smaller and smaller sizes until finally the last spark trickled back inside her wand.

As the runes faded, her hands fell to her knees and she sucked in dry, hot air greedily. That had taken a lot out of her, and her core was likely very depleted from the effort.

A whispered "Woah," snapped her from her reverie, and she looked over to see the Weasley girl sitting up on the stone, eye flicking between Jasmine and the area that had just recently been filled with flames.

"Obliviate," the ravenette stated quickly, pointing her ebony wand at the now glassy-eyed girl and removing any memory of the dark magic she had just performed, "stupefy." The red jet of light hit her squarely in the forehead, and she fell to the ground unconscious. Anyone looking into her mind would likely assume any missing memory as a part of her possession, so she wasn't overly worried about leaving evidence.

Straightening up, she paused upon seeing the devastation she had wrought.

The stone flag floor was blackened and cracked far beyond repair, and several of the ostentatious snake pillars had been completely destroyed or mutilated beyond recognition. Salazar himself was certainly looking worse for wear, with one eye completely punched out, and his beard frayed, not to mention the _giant_ skeletal snake poking out of his sooty mouth.

"I am glad I did not have to fight you," she remarked, looking at the cracked skull from which the flesh had been flayed, standing nearly twice as tall as herself – the beast maybe originally having a ten foot diameter – and the mouth was full of dozens of oddly arrayed, brutally sharp teeth. Briefly she wondered if there was any venom contained within the fangs still, since that was a rare potion ingredient, and one of the most destructive things known to man – alongside Fiendfyre, interestingly enough – and thereby both useful and expensive. Shaking her head, she decided that was for another day, not least since the ground would currently be too hot to walk on.

"Mobilicorpus," Jasmine stated upon turning, flicking her holly wand at Ginny and upwards, causing her unconscious form to float three foot above the floor. "Time to face the rest of the world."

#####################################################################################

Upon stepping once more into Myrtle's bathroom, and closing the entrance of the Chamber, Jasmine took a moment to look over her appearance in the mirror. Her glasses were removed and untransfigured, which actually turned them into the button they once were. All her other possessions were returned to the mokeskin pouch, and a quick spell removed the sewer-like smell from herself.

Deciding she looked presentable, she stalked out of the chamber, heading along the corridor towards the Great Hall.

She paused upon turning a corner to find a small congregation in front of the bloody words upon the wall: 'Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.' McGonagall was attempting to comfort a rather large, redheaded woman while another ginger man stood to the side talking with none-other than Albus Dumbledore – which was interesting, considering he was suspended recently – Amelia Bones and Cornelius Fudge also appeared to be present, holding another conversation slightly further back. Being the closest, the first to notice her were the two women.

"Ginny!" the crying woman practically screeched, rushing forth to lay hands upon the floating body behind her. "Oh thank Merlin, she's alive!"

"Miss Potter!" the transfiguration professor exclaimed in surprise, "what on Earth?"

"The monster is dead," she stated in return, feeling the eyes of the room upon her, "so would you mind keeping the school open? I would rather like to finish my education here."

"Miss Potter," said the DMLE officer as she stepped forward, "would you mind sharing how you came to the information that the Monster is dead?"

"I killed it," she answered simply, "fire is surprisingly effective against reptiles – oh, I should mention, it was a basilisk."

"You killed a basilisk," the woman repeated, her eyebrow raised behind her monocle.

"Yes."

"In the Chamber of Secrets."

"Yes."

"With fire."

"And also a cave-in if that didn't kill it," she replied nonchalantly, "I hadn't tried poking its corpse, I just pulled Miss Weasley out before the ceiling collapsed on our heads. It had grown quite dilapidated after a thousand years."

"Why were you in the Chamber?"

"To deal with the bastard who tried to kill my…best friend, since none of the teachers were getting anywhere," she answered, "which reminds me; Miss Weasley will most likely require a mind healer, she's been possessed for the past few months by an enchanted object."

"Excuse me?" she didn't think the woman's eyebrows could rise any higher.

"A diary made by the boy who went on to call himself a dark lord and murder my parents," she stated, "he opened the Chamber last time, and when he didn't complete his goal, he left behind that book to possess someone and continue that goal: removing muggleborns from this school."

"Where is this diary now, Jasmine?" Dumbledore spoke up for the first time, his eyes twinkling concernedly at her.

"Burnt and buried," she replied, "and I don't believe we're on a first name basis, Mr Dumbledore."

" _Professor_ ," McGonagall hissed at her, reminiscently of her cat form.

"Ah, forgive me, I was unaware he had been reinstated to any role within this school – how quickly things change," she said in a disinterested tone. "But we're getting off track. The attacks this year were construed by an enchanted object possessing the girl behind me, and using a basilisk to petrify students by indirectly viewing its eyes, as I'm sure Miss Weasley will be happy to corroborate for you. Rennervate," she pointed her wand at the girl, making her eyes flutter open, "now if you'll excuse me, I would like to visit my friend in the Hospital Wing, good day."

And she walked past them, leaving a group of quite flabbergasted adults who would likely never forget that conversation. She would have strung them along more, and perhaps woven a more intricate lie, but right now she wanted to see Hermione. And find the cost of a restoration draught at present time – she wasn't certain she could survive the two weeks or so before the mandrakes were ready.

#####################################################################################

"That was pretty strange at lunch," declared a voice as Jasmine sat upon a windowsill overlooking the courtyard, her mind morose at remembering games of deduction she and Hermione had played here previously. "I don't think I've ever seen the Weasley twins be serious before," Nadia said as she sat opposite her on the stone ledge.

"They were thanking me for saving their sister's life," Jasmine stated, "I received much the same reaction from her parents and the elder brother, Percy. I don't know which is worse; that, or the way everyone else have been staring at me since what I did was announced."

"Well, you did kill a basilisk, and save Ginny's life," the girl replied.

"I didn't do it for her," the ravenette said, staring away at the grey, cloudy sky. "I didn't actually know who was down there."

"There's something new; something you didn't know," Nadia said with amusement colouring her tone. Jasmine merely glared at her with hard emerald eyes, before returning to staring out of the window. "Alright, sorry for trying to lighten the mood. I know you're feeling down, but Hermione will be up and about in just another week."

"Can't come soon enough," she replied automatically, even if it wasn't what was bothering her. No, not quite. What was bothering her was that Hermione had almost died. And that made her feel things. She'd rushed along with her friendship with the girl, thinking of the mirror and it's portent of her heart's desire without thinking this past year. She'd never stopped to really consider that for the first time in her life, she actually _cared_ about someone. Not cared about a means to an end, she actually liked Hermione as a person. She was never boring, she actually understood things that no-one else was capable of except her; she was an equal in this world of one-dimensional people ambling about their daily lives, that lone diamond in the rough.

And Jasmine cared about her.

She didn't quite know whether that scared or excited her.

#####################################################################################

Predictably, the Daily Prophet went mad over the story that the Girl-Who-Lived slayed Slytherin's monster and destroyed the Chamber of Secrets. Of course, it then embellished the story to a nest of Basilisks that she had defeated with incredible magical power.

This view was destroyed, naturally, when the Diagon Gazette printed a more accurate article, containing quotes from Jasmine herself, detailing how she had a few potions designed to burn on contact with air ready, and might have overdone a few components causing them to explode instead, causing the cave-in. Their original statements without a leg to stand on, the Prophet diverted to the next available source: how the Senior Auror on a sabbatical teaching at Hogwarts couldn't figure out what a twelve year-old had put together, and that he had done nothing to stop the monster or the attacks.

And so, another Defence Professor resigned his post before the year was out, which Jasmine supposed was a shame as he was certainly a much better teacher than the previous two combined, and they had learned a lot as far as spell work went.

' _I wonder how long this curse has been going on_ ,' Jasmine mused as she speared a piece of sausage and chewed thoughtfully, ' _it's a wonder anyone at all applies to the post, considering the track record_.'

She was distracted from this train of thought as whispers moved throughout the hall, and she turned to see the point of attention: a small group of people entering the Hall, recognisably those who had been petrified.

Before she could even think Jasmine was out of her seat, food long forgotten as she scanned the crowd for one bushy-haired head.

Said mane of hair could be seen equally moving towards her, and quickly the ravenette found herself embraced in a hug, and strangely not resisting the warm embrace.

"You know, when we looked into working out what the monster was, I thought we'd tell a teacher or something. Going after it on your lonesome was not on the cards," the girl said drily.

"I had a Gryffindor moment," Jasmine quipped, earning a small punch to her arm.

"Fools rush in where angels fear to tread," Hermione quoted with a smile.

"The girl's been learning some culture, has she?"

"Hush, you."

And finally, Jasmine smiled. All was right with the world once more. Everything else would sort itself out, or she would beat it up until it did.

 **A/N: Written the day after the last one, I'm trying to use my flow while I still have it, although I think Third Year is going to be tricky, so I'll probably have delayed uploading this for a few days so it doesn't seem like such a big gap between updates. Evil, I know.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: You're getting a double whammy within a few days.  
**

 **Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING, property of respective owners etc.**

Chapter 8

Absently, Jasmine played with the silver medal she had received a few days prior. Aside from the school replacing Tom Riddle's award for special services to the school with one in her own name, the Minister had seen fit to bestow upon her an Order of Merlin, Second Class. Most likely trying to get in her good books. Amelia Bones had appeared slightly suspicious with her story, but had relented after hearing Ginny's testimony.

The publicity was a pain, however, and much too early on. She wanted clout to come once she was of an age at which she could claim her political power, and start having more of a hand controlling the light sect. She already had plenty of ins with those of a darker persuasion on the Wizengamot, and a fair few neutrals if she needed them.

' _Still_ ,' she thought as the light reflected off the silver metal, ' _I suppose one can't start too early, I can still play off this later_.'

Deciding to get on with the day, she looked over to the mirror of the room and turned her wand to her own face. The glamour she applied was one she used when needing discrepancy, and resulted in a non-descript fair skinned, mossy green eyed blonde. Hardly stunningly pretty, but not noticeably ugly either.

With a slight nod upon securing her appearance, she walked out of her room in the Leaky Cauldron – to be honest; she was looking forward to the completion of the construction of a few properties she was financing. They would give her a place to properly meet with her various lieutenants, as well as numerous safe houses and warehouses.

Movingly swiftly, she paused only once to nod politely at Tom the innkeeper – who knew her as Eleanor Jarvis – before stepping out into the Alley. Today she was after some advanced reading for the OWL electives she was taking that year; Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, widely regarded as the hardest ones to take, and perhaps a few things for Divination as well. With a smile, she recalled the day before the end of the previous term, upon which they had been required to choose their electives.

#########################################################################

" _You want to take all_ five _? Are you insane?" Jasmine asked of the bushy-haired brunette, wondering if she should be sent back into the Hospital Wing._

" _That's what I told her," Nadia commented._

" _They do offer five, you know," Hermione defended herself, and the ravenette merely rolled her eyes at the non-answer._

" _Hermione, only the workaholics take four, and those with no life and a death wish take five. Did you see how stressed Percy Weasley was when taking them?" she questioned the girl, "you can only attend classes for three at most, after that you have to self-study in your own free time – on top of all your other work – and try and chase professors to try to cover the syllabus. It's nearly impossible."_

" _Nearly, but still possible," the Gryffindor replied stubbornly._

" _Alright, let's look at this logically, shall we?" Jasmine entreated, "you are a muggleborn; you already know all there is to be known about the muggle world."_

" _I want to learn about it from a wizarding perspective."_

" _Hermione," Nadia interjected, "you remember that little conversation about Moon landings and ignorant purebloods? Charity Burbage is one of those. She's a nice enough person, if a bit ditzy, but she got her job based entirely on her blood status. That course is total pig-swill, as you two have exasperatedly taught me."_

" _Right," Jasmine affirmed, "and then, Divination, really? You_ hate _Divination."_

" _You're taking it," Hermione replied, crossing her arms._

" _I don't loathe the course and the teacher," Jasmine countered, "I'm taking it because I'm good at lying and making things up, I find the actual idea interesting, and I'm not taking it with Trelawney. I spoke with Professor McGonagall, and I'm studying it in my own time – surprisingly, she was very amenable to the idea." The brunette visibly tried to come up with an argument, but failed. "That leaves you three; Arithmancy, which is just your thing, Runes, which again you'd probably like, and Care, which is a shot in the dark."_

" _I'm not dropping Care," Hermione stated resolutely._

" _I'm not saying you should," Jasmine backed up, "three is fine, but don't try to kill yourself by doing five. We don't want to see you have a stress attack during revision over your ridiculous workload." With a sigh, the Gryffindor deflated._

" _You really think it'll be that bad?" she inquired._

" _Yes," they both replied at once._

" _It's not about how clever you are, Hermione," Nadia said quietly, "there's no question about that. It's about how much work it is."_

" _I guess maybe it is a bad idea…" the girl finally relented._

" _It is," both her companions reaffirmed._

" _And it will mean we're all taking three," Nadia added._

" _Wait, I know you're taking Care and Runes, but what's your third?" Jasmine inquired curiously._

" _Ah," the brunette blushed a little, "I'm doing some work with Madame Pomphrey. There isn't a Healing OWL, but there is a NEWT, which I can take in sixth or seventh year and then start an apprenticeship or enter St. Mungo's at a junior level."_

" _Healer Longbottom," Jasmine mused, rolling the words around on her tongue, "fits you." The girl flushed again, before giving a hesitant smile. Nadia was most likely entering into this in hope of fixing her parents from their permanent place in St. Mungo's, but from Jasmine's view, it kept pushing her towards the figure of Doctor Watson in her own eyes._

#########################################################################

Shaking her head at the memory of the Gryffindor's obsession for knowledge – even by her standards, she sometimes craved a bit too much – and her mind turned to the Ancient Runes texts she was planning on buying. She knew Futhark fairly well, and had a passing familiarity with Ogham, having expressed an interest in runes not long after entering the magical world, but she had never studied Sumerian, or Hieroglyphs, let alone some of the African tribal glyphs studied beyond NEWT level, generally for bodily enhancement and healing, and there were languages from South America still trying to be understood from ruins of the magical peoples who once resided in places like Peru in ancient times, and had mysteriously disappeared.

Her passage to Flourish and Blotts was paused, however, as she regarded the small groups of people moving hurriedly through the Alley, glancing nervously around. With a frown, she looked about to see if anything had changed, and spotted the large poster nearby. She moved almost on autopilot to stare at the scraggly haired man holding up a card with a long number upon it, jostling back and forth as he screamed and shouted. Her eyes travelled down, and met the words at the base: ' _WANTED: Sirius Black_.'

"Shit," she enunciated clearly, and spun her heel to walk briskly back to the Leaky Cauldron. ' _That throws a few bloody spanners in the works_ ,' she growled out in her head.

#########################################################################

Jasmine tapped her foot impatiently, checking her watch for the umpteenth time as she waited for Scabior to eventually show up. It's not like he was that late, not even five minutes, but each second felt like a bloody hour, and she did feel slightly conspicuous in her Irene Adler getup while below Madame Rosa's. Eventually, after another few eternities, the ruffian showed up, not that he looked quite so rough anymore. He'd cleaned up a bit from being involved in her business for two years, and he could afford much better. Even Greyback sitting across from her at the table looked cleaner and a little less gruff than he once did.

"Finally, sit," she said with a frustrated tone, pointing at the third chair.

"Sorry, I was in Glasgow when you called," the man said, "dealing with a few supply lines."

"Yes, I'm aware," she relented, fully realising it was a bit of distance between the Scottish city and London. "Now here's why I called you here. I'm guessing you are aware Sirius Black has escaped custody?"

"Yeah," Scabior replied, and Greyback simply nodded.

"Our employer is not best pleased," she leaned back in her chair, trying to make it seem like this stress was coming from dealing with Moriarty – her cover was more important that exercising her annoyance on these two. "He is quite adamant about finding and capturing him. Alive."

"What does he want with an escaped Death Eater?" Greyback queried confusedly.

"I haven't the faintest bloody idea," she replied, a lie of course, "but I've spent all day scurrying about on his orders getting any and all information I can find on him." She pulled a pair of brown information packets from an enlarged pocket, and set them on the table. "This is everything I've gathered so far, and I'll be able to get some more from his old friends in the next few days." Lucius was coming to her office in roughly an hour for that very purpose. "And any more Ministry contacts. In the meantime, I want you to put out every feeler, every man you've got on finding this bloody bastard. Keep a skeleton crew guarding the businesses and our current enterprises, but cancel any expansions for now. This is our priority."

#########################################################################

"Ah, Mr Malfoy, please have a seat," Jasmine gestured across from her as she sorted various letters on her desk.

"I'll confess, I'm curious about what needs be discussed at such short notice," the man drawled out.

"Black," she answered simply, "Moriarty wants him, alive." The blond man raised an eyebrow at this statement.

"Why?" he inquired.

"I don't know, but I don't envy Black if the amount of work we're expending to catch him is any indicator," she returned, finally finishing looking over the bits of parchment and grabbing a blank sheet and a quill before turning her attention upon Malfoy once more. "I need any and all information from your Death Eater days on him."

"I don't quite know what you're implying," the Malfoy patriarch began after a moment, but she interrupted him before he could continue.

"Mr Malfoy, let's make one thing clear. You are not before the Wizengamot, and what you tell me now is going to my employer; a criminal mastermind," she stated, looking him in the eye from behind her glasses. "What you know, if you please." He scowled for a moment, formulating his reply before saying anything.

"I'm afraid I have next to nothing to tell you," he replied. "We knew the Dark Lord had a spy of some sort in the Order of the Phoenix, but even being among the Inner Circle, I was never privy to said informant's identity. The only times I ever saw Black was when he fought with the Order, and I will confess to being impressed by his acting if he really was a turncoat."

"Wonderful," Jasmine said a tad scathingly as she massaged her brow. "So he had no friends or allies among your ranks, and he betrayed all those on the Light." She dropped her quill and leaned back in her chair, musing on the situation becoming even more awkward. "Well, could you spread around the word amongst your former cohorts that significant reward for information relating to Black is being offered? And perhaps keep a lookout; your wife is the one he's most likely to come to, being of Black birth. And any information she could offer on her cousin would also be similarly appreciated."

"Naturally," he made a hand gesture to his agreement.

"Right, then if you'll excuse me, I have to talk to a man from the DMLE about their search efforts," she stood, "thank-you for your time."

#########################################################################

As Jasmine sat in her compartment on the Hogwarts Express – already changed, as per usual – her mind was not upon the school she was soon to be returning to. Instead, she was concentrating upon the copy of the Daily Prophet within her grasp, and the article about Sirius Black being 'You-Know-Who's right hand man.' It was mostly conjecture, par for the course as far as the Prophet went, and Jasmine still found it amusing that they refused to print Voldemort's name. 'You-Know-Who' was a very silly thing to call someone, especially if you didn't know who it referred to.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the door sliding open, and a brunette poking her head through; something only two people who were keyed into the notice-me-not charm she had cast could do.

"Hello, Nadia," she greeted casually.

"Er, sorry, do I know you?" the girl replied, and Jasmine blinked before remembering the glamour she had cast over herself to get through the station un-accosted. With a flick of her wand, auburn hair turned black, and her other features returned to normal. "Oh, why the glamour?" the girl said as she moved into the compartment, storing her trunk overhead.

"The public is still flustered over the basilisk thing, and now they recognise me from the photographs from that Order of Merlin ceremony," she replied. "It's a pain."

"I can imagine," Nadia replied as she sat down opposite her. "I just realised, where's your luggage?"

"In my pocket," the ravenette pulled the miniaturised trunk from her right pocket before slipping it back in.

"How did you shrink it, we aren't allowed to practise magic outside of school," the girl said with a frown.

"It's enchanted to do it itself," Jasmine stated, "after my last one was broken into, I bought a new one with all the bells and whistles, as it were." No-one would be going through her property again any time soon; that thing had its own wardstone, numerous secret compartments, and several different openable spaces. Depending on how she opened it, she would receive either one of five trunk-sized spaces, or a set of stairs going down into a mid-sized room, and from all of those, more space were accessible.

"That can't have been cheap," said a new voice, and the pair turned to see Hermione dragging her own trunk.

"Not particularly cheap, no," Jasmine replied nonchalantly. ' _Try a few hundred galleons_ ,' she added silently. Her privacy was something she valued. "but then again, we are all students at the most exclusive private school in all of Great Britain and Ireland."

"Hah, I suppose plenty of comparisons can be made," Hermione relented.

"Ninety percent of the students would probably vote Tory."

"Well, magical Britain is about as conservative as you can get," mused Hermione, "I mean their views on plenty of things are practically Victorian." At this, Nadia made several faux-coughing noises.

"This is my culture you're insulting here," she spoke up.

"Yes, but it is also silly at times, and thereby deserving of mockery," Hermione returned light-heartedly.

And so began a debate that would last for several hours.

#########################################################################

The Hogwarts Express was fairly well-known in magical Britain; it took children from London all the way through the North of England to the upper reaches of Scotland, and it did this six times during each individual school year – at the beginning and ends of the Autumn, Spring and Summer terms – it was also well-known to be a heavily enchanted muggle object, and had been running on those hidden tracks since it was bought many years before.

Never, however, had the locomotive been known to halt before reaching its destination. Not in living memory, anyway.

"What the hell?" was Nadia's response as she looked out of her window into the darkened early evening sky, "since when do we stop halfway to Hogwarts?"

"This train doesn't stop," Jasmine added, looking out of her own and downwards, taking in the viaduct they rested upon. "This isn't looking good; we're in a heavily exposed location, where any method of fleeing would practically involve single file. This is the perfect location for an ambush."

"Why would someone attack the Hogwarts Express?" Nadia queried, bewildered.

"Because this train contains half the magical nation's children," Hermione answered with a grave face, "if you want to make an impact, you go after what people hold most dear." Both of them were more familiar with the muggle world - where events like this were feared by almost rabid parents.

"Wands out," the ravenette commanded, "and ward the…doors." She grew distracted towards the end of her sentence, trailing off as she regarded the sudden creeping build-up of ice across the window, moving at a pace best measured in inches per second. It even froze a bottle of water Nadia had purchased from the trolley earlier, and when Jasmine saw the flitting of shapes outside through the icy glass, her heart sank as she deduced what this was. "Oh hell, that shouldn't even be…" she was about to say 'possible,' when a dark aura settled over her, and the life was sucked from the cabin. A glance at the drawn faces of the other two showed they felt the presence as well; of all the light and joy being sucked from the world.

Agonisingly sluggishly, Jasmine forced her wand towards the doorway, from where the feeling seemed at its strongest, even as a grey-fleshed, bony hand wrapped spindly fingers around the frame.

"Ex…" she tried to summon the words as the sound of screams imparted upon her ears. The door slid open with protesting squeals on icy rollers, displaying the ghastly figure in tattered black robes floating beyond. As it reached that bony hand forward, Jasmine's revulsion gave her strength, "Ex…Expecto Patronum!"

With a stab forward of her wand, a slew of white mist formed at the end of her holly wand, creating a meagre shield against the Dementor. Blinking as the aura's presence lessened, she physically pushed her magic into the spell, increasing the power behind it to force away the backpedalling creature until an ethereal raven spread its wings from the tip of her wand, launching itself at the Dementor.

Facing the personification of its prey's will to fight, the monster scarpered, and lamps they hadn't realised had gone out flickered back on. Once she was sure it had left, Jasmine drooped in her seat, the misty raven flapping back over to set its effervescent claws onto her shoulder. She smiled slightly at the bird, feeling a little stronger for its presence.

"What…the hell…was that?" Nadia gasped out.

"Something that really shouldn't be on a train of school-children," Jasmine replied as she flicked her wand in a sideways slash to close the sliding doors. She didn't cancel the Patronus however, even if it was steadily draining her magic bit-by-bit. "Do either of you have chalk in your trunks?"

"What?" Nadia spluttered confusedly, although Hermione evidently understood, standing to yank her trunk down from its place above her, and swiftly opening it up to throw a hoodie out. Grasping a blue box, she pulled out a white stick of chalk triumphantly and set about the doors. A few scrabbles later, and four simple glyphs of Futhark were set upon the door; never before had Jasmine been so glad of the Gryffindor's over-studious nature as right now.

"Alveo," the bushy-haired witch incanted with her wand to the chalk, and a slight shimmer coated the doorway like a giant bubble of water while the chalky runes glowed a soft white. "That should hold for about ten minutes, max."

"That should do," Jasmine replied, relaxing a little and letting her raven fade into wispy smoke and then nothing. "Does either of you have any chocolate?"

"No, how about you explain what the bloody hell is going on," Nadia replied.

"That was a dementor," Jasmine answered, "they're the guards of Azkaban island." She took a breath before continuing, "you don't want to know what they do."

"What?" Hermione asked.

"Hermione, trust me on this. This is one of those things you're better off not knowing," she resolutely affirmed. "Safe be said, at the range we were at, they feed off your happiness – literally sucking it away – and leaving you with nothing but your worst memories."

"I've never felt so cold to the bone," Nadia shivered.

"Chocolate," Jasmine stated, "do you have any left? It helps against dementor exposure; presumably by releasing endorphins."

"I think I have a few chocolate frogs…" the brunette murmured, searching around herself. While she was doing that, the Ravenclaw casted a warming charm upon the window, melting the thin ice on the other side and allowing her vision of tattered robes flying through the air away from the train, chased by a pair of silver darts of light.

"They're leaving," she said without turning away, "or being chased off more accurately; probably by two of the teachers."

"That's a relief," Nadia replied as she divvied up her remaining chocolate, which they shared gratefully, quickly feeling a bit warmer. With a slight jerk, roughly a minute after the Dementors were chased away, the train once again began to plod its way to Hogwarts. "So what the hell was all that?"

"With this many…" Jasmine pondered, having counted at least a dozen fleeing, "I'd assume these were part of the group looking for Sirius Black, and presumably some moron at the Ministry decided a search of the train would be a good idea." She snorted, "as if a mass-murdering Death-Eater would be hiding amongst a group of school-children."

"So, they were doing that under the Ministry's order?" Hermione asked in an astounded tone.

"I hope so," the ravenette replied, "if the dementors are free to do as they wish, then Gods help us." Both Gryffindors shivered slightly at the idea.

"What was that spell you used to make the raven?"

"Ah, the Patronus charm. I originally learned it for sending messages." That much was true, as she had been in something of a bind before First Year of needing to go to school and potentially not being able to leave for a large length of time. Of course, it was only after she'd finally succeeded in casting it – through much work – that modified voices didn't carry over into messages, instead being given in the caster's original voice. "It's pretty much the only spell that's known to be useful against dementors."

"Sounds useful."

"Not so much, the chance of us encountering one of them again is pretty much nil."

#########################################################################

"What was it you said earlier on the train?" Hermione queried as she stared out of their carriage at the Dementor floating above one of Hogwarts' winged boars on the gate pillars.

"Yes, I rescind my statement," Jasmine answered while looking at the matching one on the other side, "the whole Ministry is apparently testing new levels of stupidity, not just one dumb employee."

#########################################################################

"Well, now you have all been fed and watered, allow me to welcome you all to Hogwarts for this new school year," Dumbledore declared as the last of the desserts vanished, and Jasmine turned bored eyes upon the old man. Another year, another speech by an annoying, ancient codger. "To begin with, as many of you will know, Auror Shacklebolt has returned to his post in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement after kindly standing in as our Defence against the Dark Arts teacher last year. So, it is my pleasure to introduce the new teacher for said course; Professor Remus Lupin." That got the ravenette's attention. _Remus Lupin_. She had been looking high and low for that man since Sirius Black had escaped, but he had proved extremely difficult to track down, not least because his file at the Ministry was sealed by Dumbledore as Chief Warlock for some reason. Of course, she _could_ get ahold of that information, but it would require physically stealing it from a heavily guarded location and so far hadn't been worth the effort involved. For the most part, this man had disappeared after the end of the war – presumably after losing two of his best friend's lives to the hand of the third – and hadn't been seen or heard from since then.

And now here he was, giving a shy wave to the student body in his slightly worn robes.

"And furthermore," Dumbledore continued as the whispers about the new Defence teacher abated, "I must announce that Professor Kettleburn has retired in order to spend more time with his remaining limbs. From now on Care of Magical Creatures will be taken by Professor Rubeus Hagrid." Here the huge man stood from his place at the far end of the table, and gave a jaunty wave to the student body. The Gryffindors cheered for the most part, along with a lot of Hufflepuff. Slytherin and almost all of Ravenclaw were silent at the appointment, however.

When she had gotten the man pardoned, inadvertently, from the crime of manslaughter by incriminating Voldemort in opening the Chamber of Secrets, Jasmine would have never considered that it meant he could now hold a teaching position. She didn't look down on his obvious creature heritage, but the man was a bumbling oaf, not the right sort of material for a teacher. The Slytherins would eat him alive, and the Ravenclaws would dice him first. For Gods' sakes, could he even _read_?

Dumbledore then proceeded to give a speech about the Dementors, in which he didn't imply favourably in terms of the Ministry for appointing them as 'guards' of Hogwarts. Jasmine had certainly felt his eye upon her when he mentioned invisibility cloaks. She doubted they knew about the secret tunnel from under a mirror on the third floor to a cave in the Forbidden Forest, and she didn't need to set foot above ground to use her two-way portkey she had spent hours down in the passage enchanting to go between there and her office at the Diogenes Club. Plus, she did know the one charm used to keep them away.

It also reminded her of how important it was for her to catch Black; she couldn't let the Ministry get ahold of him first.

#########################################################################

As the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws walked into their first lesson of the term, they viewed the Defence classroom with interest. The classrooms at the school had a tendency to reflect the teacher currently in the post. Quirrel had the room slightly stuffy with burning incense, and was generally fairly dark in ambiance. Lockhart, reflexively always had the windows open, and the room bright, while he covered the walls with paintings, photos and posters of himself; the textbook narcissist. Shacklebolt had been fairly simple, having a few posters on how to hold your wand for certain movements, and a few recruitment flyers and pamphlets here-and-there for the DMLE. Lupin had paintings of creatures along the wall – dragons and a nundu being the easiest to discern. Furthermore, the desks and chairs were piled up against the sides of the room, and a large wardrobe rested in the centre of the floor.

The students jerked back as one when the piece of furniture jumped and shook suddenly.

"Don't be afraid," declared a voice, and they turned to see Lupin walking down the stairs from his office, "what you're looking at is the home of a boggart. I spent a day last week scouring the castle and nabbed this one in Filch's office." He gave the wood a knock as he got close, stopping the rattling from within. "As you all know already, my name is Professor Lupin, however I ask you allow me a few weeks before being expected to know all your names by memory." That wrought a few chuckles, and he gave a small smile at the achievement. "Now, last year you were all taught by a capable man who grounded you in defensive and offensive spells, yes?" After receiving several nods, he continued. "Well, since Auror Shacklebolt already covered a good deal of that, I'm not going to focus on wizard-to-wizard combat this year, although I will perhaps try to run one duelling lesson a month to keep that ticking over. No, my proficiency is in creatures. Not the same kind as Professor Hagrid will be teaching those of you taking his class, but the sort that would do you harm in the real world. For the most part, I will try and teach you in practical lessons, such as today." He gestured to the wardrobe. "Can anyone tell me anything about boggarts? Hands up if you know." Jasmine, alongside a few other Ravens and one specific Gryffindor raised their hands. "Yes, Miss…" he pointed at the eager girl.

"Granger, sir," she answered, "a boggart is a creature which lives in small, dark spaces close to centres of magic and magic users. It assumes the shape of its victim's greatest fear in order to feed off their dread."

"Excellent, five points to Gryffindor," the man stated. "As Miss Granger said, the boggart feeds off your fear by becoming it. Now what really hurts a boggart is laughter, feeling happy around it gives it nothing to feed off of, so we use a charm to turn it into something funny. The incantation is Riddikulus, can you repeat after me? Riddikulus," the class intoned the word as one voice, and the man nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Perfect, and the wand movement is a simple flick. Now can we have a volunteer to step up? How about you…?"

"Ron Weasley, sir," the redheaded boy mumbled as he walked forwards a bit.

"Right, now what is it you're most afraid of Mister Weasley?"

"S-spiders, sir," he answered hesitantly.

"Ah, arachnophobia, a fairly common fear," Lupin stroked his chin for a moment as he pondered, "right, how do you think a spider would look with no legs, hmm? Would it still be scary?"

"Er, I guess not."

"Brilliant, well I want you to visualise a spider without any legs in your mind," the man moved over to stand by the wardrobe, "keep that visualised, and when you see the spider, cast Riddikulus." At the boy's tentative nod, he threw the door to the wardrobe open.

Immediately, out stepped a giant spider, which was probably fairly close to what an acromantula looked like. Ron looked terrified, shaking slightly as it advanced upon him before sticking out his wand.

"R-Riddikulus," he shouted, flicking his wand. In an instant, the spider's body fell to the floor, wobbling helplessly.

"Excellent, Ron, and let's keep it going. Form a line, and let's have the next person!" Lupin called, flicking his wand to a record player on his desk that began playing some old Jazz music, even as the class shuffled into an orderly queue before the wardrobe, Jasmine finding herself behind Sally-Anne Perks, and with Padma Patil at the front. As soon as she got close, the boggart _twisted_ into mid-air to reform as a rather large cobra – which was an intriguing choice for a native to India. Of course, said snake quickly tied itself in a knot before being replaced by an old-fashioned Egyptian mummy as the other Patil moved up.

"Isn't this a bit public?" Nadia whispered from behind the ravenette, "airing people's fears for everyone to see."

"My thoughts exactly," the Ravenclaw responded with a frown. It did indeed seem a little insensitive to air the students' fears to their peers; open for mockery.

All too soon, Jasmine stepped up to the mark, and it seemed as if the prior muggleborn girl's clown jack-in-the-box stared her in the eye before twisting to reform as a familiar woman.

The adult version of Hermione she had committed to memory in the Mirror of Erised stood before her in the flesh, but her face was twisted into a snarl of pure hatred and loathing, disgust seeping from her very pores.

"I know," the words dropped from the mockery's lips, and Jasmine's heart dropped into her stomach.

"Riddikulus," she all but yelled at the figure, watching as she turned to gleefully ripping a copy of Hogwarts: A History to shreds; the sight being so absurd as to make her give a small snort of laughter as she made way for Nadia.

Jasmine barely noticed the boggart reforming into the brunette's grandmother shouting down the girl as a 'Sorry excuse for a witch' before being suddenly garbed in a bright pink and yellow sundress, which looked quite odd on the old lady. She did pay a little more attention as in front of Hermione the creature became Professor McGonagall, yelling about expulsion until she was turned into a kitten playing with a ball of yarn.

The rest of the class passed quickly, before the Professor stepped in-front of the wardrobe, watching the boggart become a silvery disk before bursting and whizzing back into its container like a balloon, at which point he called the lesson done.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?" Hermione whispered to the ravenette as she prepared to leave, having been quite anxious upon seeing the other girl's boggart.

"Maybe I'll tell you one day, but not today," Jasmine answered resolutely, watching as the bushy-haired girl left the room. The Ravenclaw, however, did not.

"Oh, hello there Miss Potter," Lupin said as he noticed she was still present, "was there something you needed?" She didn't comment on the fact he already knew her name, despite not calling on her during the lesson.

"I was wondering what you could tell me about Sirius Black, professor," the man froze like a deer caught in headlights, although his back was still to her.

"I don't know why you would ask me such a question," he replied after a moment.

"I know about the Marauders, sir."

"That…was a long time ago, Miss Potter."

"Not that long ago; you worked together as members of the Order, didn't you?" Lupin deflated, and finally turned to look at her with a drawn face.

"You are quite well informed," he eventually relented.

"Not as much as I would like to be," she answered firmly.

"I haven't seen Black in more than a decade," the Professor stated, "and as far as I'm concerned, the Sirius Black I knew died the day he betrayed Prongs and Lils to Voldemort." At that moment, he just looked tired, like a man who had lived longer than he really expected or wanted to, and carried many a burden. "Any information on Black I might have would clearly be useless, as I apparently did not know him at all."

"You can't think of anything that might help lead to his capture?"

"No," he replied, but Jasmine noticed the hesitation and slight tick as he blinked. He was lying, she was practically sure of it. However, prying now would do her no good.

"Alright, thank-you sir," she turned to walk away, already formulating how she could try and extract the information from him. He had something, and she needed to know what.

 **A/N: Calling it there I think. So much for moving quickly, I think most of this is filler, as I'm sort of rolling with what comes to me; my plans for Third Year basically amount to nothing. Anyway, I'd appreciate reviews to know whether people like where this is going - I am uncertain about several of the things I post.  
**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Let's try and raise the pace, shall we? Also this will contain my version of a Wizengamot explanation that may get a bit dry, and perhaps borrows from some other authors – not entirely sure to be quite honest, with the volume of fanfiction that I read.**

 **Which brings me on to an important point. I stated at the start of this story that it was an expanded piece based on the work of Esama. What I think I forgot to mention, is it is heavily influenced by a lot of other writers as well. Some things are fairly subtle, others are blatantly obvious, but I realise looking back on some of their works that I've borrowed fairly heavily from people like Nemesis13 (who has written several very funny stories in this little Fem!Harry sector of HP Fanfiction that are well-worth a read).**

 **So, yes. If you come across a line you think you've heard before, or the occasional similar themes, it is probably from whoever you're already thinking of. I have a small list of people it's likely to be in my profile (which is also something of a recommended reading list as well) and I'd appreciate it if you can tell me who I'm plagiarizing at any given time if they are not on that list.  
**

 **Wow, long AN, time to get on with it.**

 **Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING, property of respective owners etc.**

Chapter 9

Jasmine stalked the corridors of Hogwarts with no little amount of frustration. The news delivered in the Daily Prophet was not good for her; Black had been caught on muggle CCTV in Scotland, disturbingly close to Hogsmeade. Considering Azkaban island was located West of Lands' End, he had come a long way North rather than fleeing the country. Word from the Ministry indicated one thing; they believed he was coming after her. Which, depending how she looked at it, was both good and bad. Good, because it might mean she could potentially capture him herself, bad because he was far more likely to be caught by the Dementors and have his soul sucked out.

It was a damned awkward situation.

Jasmine finally paused in her brisk walk through the castle as she realised she was close to her windowsill – the place she often went to think, or meet the girl currently sitting in it. Hermione had said nothing as she approached, and was staring out of the window listlessly, a strangely blank expression on her face. As the Ravenclaw slowly approached, she noted an open book on the stone ledge, and finally the bushy-haired girl spoke.

"I should have listened to you," she all-but whispered, her tone slightly ethereal. "you were right." Jasmine frowned worriedly; this wasn't like the Gryffindor to act like this, not at all. With a twist of her head, she took in the old book and read the title of the page. ' _Ah_ ,' she registered, putting the pieces together as she sat opposite Hermione.

"Oh, Hermione, you and your search for never-ending knowledge. There are some things in life you're better off not knowing," she softly closed the book, hiding the illustration of the Dementor upon the page.

"I read in the paper this morning that the Ministry had authorised a 'kiss on sight' order. I wanted to know what it meant."

"Well, now you know."

" _How_ ," she hoarsely replied, turning a gaunt face to Jasmine, "how can the Ministry work with such…?"

"Monsters?" Jasmine suggested, "inhumane creatures? Crimes against nature?"

"It's barbaric!" she exclaimed, "how can they subject anyone to those…things, regardless of what crimes they've committed?"

"Because the Dementors exist either way, and this way, they only feed off the scum of society, and create a very good incentive not to commit a crime. Would you prefer they roamed freely?"

"No, but…"

"Or perhaps kill all the Dementors? The only known method that works is Fiendfyre, which is quite a drastic solution, and there are I think more than two hundred to deal with."

"No, but…"

"Then what would you have them do?"

"I don't know!" the girl threw her arms up exasperatedly, showing emotion for the first time since they'd started talking. "But you can't excuse the Ministry using the kiss as a punishment. To actually suck out someone's soul…"

"Is the very definition of a cruel and unusual punishment?"

"Yes!"

"Well, remember that there are still plenty of places in the world which practice capital punishment; is this that much different?"

"Yes, but this is someone's immortal soul we're talking about, and having it eaten by some…"

"Actually there are different theories about what happen to a soul taken by a Dementor. It's believed by some that they were literally summoned from Tartarus – the deepest pit of the Underworld – a few thousand years ago, and that is where the souls they take go. Hence, why they guard a prison and punish the wicked essentially, by leaving them with their worst memories of the crimes they committed."

"Legends don't constitute fact, Jasmine, for all we know the Dementors could literally eat the soul, destroying it entirely. I mean, would you wish that fate on even Sirius Black?"

"What about Sirius Black?" entered a new voice, and both girls turned to find Nadia standing there, "I was wondering where you two were; is this about the sighting yesterday?"

"No," Jasmine answered, "and to answer your question, Hermione, the situation with Black is a lot more complex for me than you know."

"What?" she replied, frowning. The ravenette hesitated before continuing, deciding how best to phrase her answer, and how much she should reveal.

"Black…he isn't just responsible for killing Pettigrew; he was apparently Voldemort's spy, and he was the secret-keeper to the Fidelius charm my parents and I were hiding under. He was their best friend, really, before he betrayed them to Voldemort by letting him inside the charm." She didn't miss Nadia's flinches at the name.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," Hermione responded, her expression having lost its anger and likely forgetting the previous conversation about Dementors, which Jasmine took as a good thing.

"No, it's fine, he's just another of the Dark Lord's men," she stated, "and it's not like I care that great a deal about what he did. The Dark Lord killed my parents, not Black; he was just acting under orders. And besides, I can't really bring up any hate for him having anything to do with the death of the parents I don't even remember having." Of course, there was more to it than that. Not least that she did thoroughly hate that it was due to him she'd been placed at the Dursley household, and for growing up without her heritage.

"You don't feel anything about him?" Nadia asked curiously, "not even the slightest desire for revenge?" The girl seemed like she was trying to comfort herself, which Jasmine didn't comment on as she pondered how best to answer the question.

"I didn't say I wouldn't take revenge," she replied conspiratorially.

"You're planning something," Hermione stated firmly.

"Maybe," Jasmine relented.

"Spill," she demanded, and the ravenette shrugged before relenting.

"I currently have a group of mercenaries chasing him down for a bounty even as the DMLE is," she said. It wasn't a total lie, as she's put out quite the bounty on his head and a number of her men after him.

"You're paying men to kill him?" the bushy-haired girl said with wide eyes.

"Oh, no, I need him alive," Jasmine reassured her.

"What for?" the girl asked hesitantly.

"To stand trial before the Wizengamot and receive his proper sentencing."

"What does that matter; isn't the punishment for escaping Azkaban death anyway? It amounts to the same thing," Nadia inquired confusedly.

"Not legally," Jasmine explained, "if he goes to court, is sentenced, and is then sent through the veil, he will have legally fulfilled his punishment and served his penance – the same as if he had died in prison. This differs from dying while evading or resisting capture, or while on the run as a criminal."

"How is that different?" Hermione asked, still confused.

"If you die after or during serving your penance, then you are recognised post-death the same as any other citizen, with all due rights that you would otherwise forfeit as a criminal," the ravenette continued, sounding as if she was quoting from a book of law. "This includes, among other things, that your last Will and Testament is valid." The expressions of dawning realisation on both their faces was slightly amusing to watch.

"So, he dies after being sentenced, and his will can then be read," Hermione said, placing the sequence of events together, "I'm guessing you…"

"You are looking at the primary beneficiary of the will of one Sirius Black," Jasmine affirmed with a smile. "He last updated his will not long after I was born and named his goddaughter – since, you know, he couldn't access anything like that while in Azkaban. I think all but one or two of the others named are all dead, but they don't matter since he included a really important bit of wording. He left to me ' _and everything else_.'"

"So, he dies, and you take the majority of his stuff?" Hermione deduced.

"Oh, not just that," Jasmine was outright grinning, and it appeared Nadia caught on as her eyes widened.

"You're kidding?" the brunette said incredulously, "that includes…?"

"Yep," the Ravenclaw said, popping the 'p' a little with a smug smile.

"Holy shit."

"What, what am I missing?" Hermione asked, the byplay lost on her.

"One year after he entered Azkaban," Jasmine explained, "his mother – Walburga Black – died. She was the last head of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black; a position which then passed to him, even if he couldn't use it while in jail, and probably didn't even know about it."

"So, when he dies, you'll be the head of that House?" Hermione deduced.

"That's right. And no-one can even contest it as there isn't anyone who currently carries the name Black, and I am a blood relation through my grandmother – Dorea Potter née Black."

"And, this will do a lot for you I'm guessing?" Hermione's lack of knowledge on this wasn't unsurprising – she was after all a muggleborn – and Jasmine only knew what with how involved she was becoming with steering the country's decisions.

"You have no idea," Nadia commented, still slightly wide-eyed. "You'll get the seats as well, won't you?"

"That's right," Jasmine looked truly triumphant as she considered the situation. "Hermione, how much do you know about the Wizengamot?"

"It's the main legislative body of the Ministry isn't it? A bit like the House of Commons mixed with the House of Lords?" the muggleborn replied.

"Kind of. It is basically the power in this country – the Minister is just a figurehead, the real decisions are made by the Wizengamot," the Ravenclaw explained, sharing the knowledge each pureblood grew up with, "it's comprised of roughly two hundred individual seats."

"One hundred and ninety four," Nadia supplied, "last one added was the Dawes, thirty years ago."

"Thank-you," she nodded at the Gryffindor, "and all of those seats belong to families, and are inherited and controlled by said families rather than elected."

"That's stupid; what if you have a complete moron come into a seat?" Hermione queried.

"That's just how things work," Jasmine asserted with a shrug, "the old pureblood Houses hold the power. Now, not all of those seats have an individual voter; there are cadet and inherited Houses which are subordinate to another House that can then use their vote. Cadet Houses tend to be offshoots of the main line – usually where a marriage contract between a larger and smaller House allows the latter to move up in the world but giving up some of its autonomy in the process, or these also count for Houses that have been won by secession or combat or debt or something else. Inherited Houses are those that have died out and become extinct as there is no-one to hold the name, and the last member of the bloodline was a woman who has then married into another family, which then receives their vote. Being inherited is something people try to avoid so long as to keep their name alive – usually by having marriage contracts through which the second child of the couple is given their name rather than the one of the family they were born to, becoming the next heir."

"Wait, sorry, how does that work?" Hermione asked.

"Well, let's take the McKinnon's as an example," Nadia's eyes narrowed, but she stayed silent so Jasmine continued, "last generation; their family only had two daughters – Marlene and Alice. Mary died in the war, and Alice married Frank Longbottom – becoming Alice Longbottom. The House of McKinnon is now acknowledged as extinct as there is no-one carrying the name, and their vote on the Wizengamot is currently held as an inherited seat by Augusta Longbottom. Now, say in ten years, Nadia has a child – and for the sake of the argument, as part of her marriage has kept the Longbottom name."

"Wait, you can do that?" Hermione interrupted.

"Yes, but rarely does it happen since men don't like taking a woman's name. It tends to occur when someone is marrying above their station, most often into a dying family. Now, if I may?" Hermione had the decency to blush, and made a movement for her to continue, "convention dictates Nadia name her first child as a Longbottom – in order to continue the line. Her second child however, she can name as the McKinnon heir, at which point the House will be recognised as no-longer extinct when that child reaches their age of majority and can take their seat on the Wizengamot."

"Ah, I see," the bushy-haired girl sat silent for a moment, "this all seems very archaic, but I'm guessing your point is that the House of Black counts for several votes?" Nadia snorted, and shook her head.

"Try the most votes for any single House on the Wizengamot," the brunette stated, "they hold nine seats."

"Which, for this last decade, have been held by proxy of Lucius Malfoy via a claim through his wife – Narcissa Malfoy née Black – and his son stands to take on the Black line as Head of House when he reaches seventeen, making them then subjugate to the Malfoys after another generation," Jasmine explained. "That's why Lucius Malfoy has been so powerful for the last few years. Aside from being rich, he holds the votes of – including his own House's three – twelve seats. Which is a record, by the way."

"Bloody hell, no wonder he's so powerful if he holds five percent of the vote on his own," Hermione muttered. "Is it common for a House to hold as many as that?"

"Oh, no," Nadia replied, "most Houses only have the one; it's just the really old ones that tend to have extras, or those who have worked to gain them. The Blacks are both – they have kind of been known for centuries as the most ruthless and vicious of the Dark Houses, and they've made several others extinct and taken their wealth for their own. I mean, their feud with the Meadowes went on for three centuries, I think, before the Blacks finally wiped them out and took their seats."

"You can just take them?" Hermione asked.

"No, it's more ritualistic than that," Jasmine supplied, "by rite of combat, defeating your enemy thrice is enough to lay a claim – and that's old magic, dating back long before any form of government – however you also have to make sure you're dealing with the person currently holding the title or whatever, directly or indirectly."

"So…if I defeated Malfoy three times, I could claim his titles?" she ventured.

"No. It has to be a feud from Head of House to Head of House, or vassal from said, and you usually have to be the victim, not the aggressor, before it's possible to be acknowledged and you can lay a claim as compensation. Its complex," Nadia stated, "even I don't understand all this stuff, and I was taught it from five years old."

"I think I get what it amounts to," Hermione reassured. "If you can get Black sentenced, you become very politically powerful."

"And economically; the Blacks aren't exactly a poor family, and the Malfoys haven't been able to access the Black vault as they don't directly have power over the House yet, only by proxy. That only happens after Sirius is dead and Draco can attempt to claim it as the most direct descendant," Jasmine added. "If I can get this done, I will be heir to House Black until I'm old enough to become Head of House, and I will then also be able to use their votes on the Wizengamot."

"That's going to be a big snub to the Dark sect," Nadia commented, "having the oldest and most powerful Dark House under the aegis of the Potters."

"It'll be interesting to see the fireworks, that's for certain," Jasmine said drily.

###########################################################################################

Upon the day of the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year, Jasmine sat on a window seat above the courtyard, watching as Hermione and Nadia walked over to Filch and presented their permission slips before moving on. She, of course, was unable to obtain such a thing – not that she had tried or needed one really. She had no parent or guardian to sign it at this time, and she had no wish to bring that to the attention of anyone, least of all the Headmaster. And, of course, she could leave Hogwarts any time she wished. However, she could only leave as Irene Adler, not as Jasmine Potter. And she could not go down to Hogsmeade with her friends. She wasn't quite sure if the emotion she felt counted as sadness as she watched the pair walk from sight. Melancholy, perhaps.

The ravenette was torn from said melancholy by the approach of a pair of familiar twins.

"Messrs Weasley and Weasley," she greeted, going by the names they had been using to test a few prank items for sale with the student populace. Her investment looked to be slowly taking off as more rumours trickled in of their exploits. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, Gred and I," one gestured to the other.

"I thought I was Forge?" the second commented, cementing that he was indeed Fred.

"That was yesterday," the other reassured his brother, "anyway, we were thinking."

"That a lovely little lady like you."

"Ought not be lounging around on her lonesome."

"On such a lovely day."

"Like this."

"Yes, well, I believe most of the populace are heading to Hogsmeade," Jasmine replied.

"Indeed they are, and Gred and I."

"Had _deduced_."

"That you don't have a permission slip."

"You'd be correct," she relented, not missing their terminology there.

"Well, seeing as how you've helped us start to get things off the ground."

"And what with saving our sister's life last year."

"Can't forget that, Forge."

"We decided to share with you the secret to our success."

Conspiratorially, George withdrew an old piece of parchment from within his robes, and opened it up. Jasmine raised an eyebrow at the unassuming nature of the thing.

"What's the secret?" she inquired. With a manic grin, Fred tapped his wand to the yellowed paper.

"I solemnly I am up to no good," he whispered, and before them a banner unfurled across the seam of the folded paper.

' _Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, purveyors of aid to magical mischief makers, are proud to present: The Marauder's Map_.' The name of the product itself was much larger than the words above it, being surrounded by a quickly forming copy of the Quidditch pitch, but Jasmine's attention was upon the four men's names: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs.

Her mother's journal had listed many things – much of which she was still going through – from altered potions to function better, the occasional new spell or arithmetic arrays for half-finished ones, to notes on advanced Charms, to normal diary entries upon occasion. Some of those entries mentioned the boy who grew into a man ceaselessly pursuing her heart while playing pranks with his three friends. And they always referred to each other in private not by their real names, but by nicknames only they understood. And after the time she later spent around them in sixth and seventh year, she grew to know them by those names: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. What they actually meant she hadn't known, as James had refused to tell her unless she married him, and the journal finished at the end of her seventh year with the last entry noting she would have to buy a new one.

"The Marauders," she muttered, as she gazed upon the parchment.

"We owe them everything – this has been invaluable to us, and we've long considered ourselves their successors," George stated.

"Where did you get it?" she inquired curiously.

"Nabbed it from Filch's office in first year – he has a file labelled 'extremely dangerous,' and we couldn't resist," Fred answered. "And you haven't even seen what it does, yet."

With one movement, the parchment was unfurled, the unfolded paper displaying a map of Hogwarts. Every floor, every room, the grounds, the Quidditch pitch and even the houses each detailed separately floor by floor. And then Jasmine noticed the movement. All over the map, small pairs of feet could be seen, and inked next to each of them was their name. Scanning the map, she noted Albus Dumbledore pacing in his office. She could even make out the Fat Friar on top of the Astronomy tower, and Peeves was doing something outside Filch's office.

"Bloody hell," she exclaimed, wondering just how much work this had taken, and what Arithmancy was behind all this.

"We know, amazing right?" one of the twins commented.

"This is the single most complex piece of magic I've ever seen outside of wardstones," she stated firmly. With a quick incantation, she touched the tip of her wand to the parchment and lifted it up, pulling with it a ghostly white network of dozens, if not hundreds of runes. Though, they appeared but for a moment before flickering out and the whole map went blank before text began to appear letter-by-letter as if being written with a quill.

' _Mr Moony detects someone attempting to tamper with things that are not theirs._

 _Mr Padfoot would like to know who would be so bold._

 _Mr Prongs would like to tell them to bugger off._

 _Mr Wormtail would like to reiterate Mr Padfoot's question, while also asking why they attempted this._ '

"You've done it now," Fred said gravely as the words faded once more.

"They won't let you use the map until you can explain yourself – it took us ages of talking to them and gaining hints before we figured out the password," George added.

"Explain myself? How?" she asked.

"Touch your wand to the parchment and say what you want to say," Fred explained. Taking a moment to formulate her response, Jasmine tapped her wand to the yellowed parchment.

"To answer Mr Padfoot and Mr Wormtail; Mr Prongs' daughter grew curious about what appears to be a very interesting map," she ignored the gaping of the redhead twins at her words – apparently they didn't know of the real identities of the foursome.

' _Mr Wormtail believes this to be a lie as Mr Prongs is far too immature to ever have children._

 _Mr Prongs would disagree with Mr Wormtail and express his love for his flower._

 _Mr Padfoot would agree with Mr Wormtail._

 _Mr Moony would ask for proof of her heritage.'_

Once again the letters faded, and Jasmine spent a moment formulating her response.

"Mr Prongs gained his first date with my mother after Mr Padfoot was caught placing monitoring charms in the showers, and she and Mr Prongs subsequently devised a way to remove Mr Padfoot's genitalia for a week as punishment."

' _Mr Moony believes this is entirely plausible of Mr Padfoot, and believes the Prongslet is telling the truth._

 _Mr Padfoot protests that a Marauder is never caught, merely implicated, and thus does not believe the Prongslet._

 _Mr Prongs would like to laugh at Mr Padfoot's prior predicament, and believes that the girl in question is indeed his progeny._

 _Mr Wormtail has changed his mind, and would agree with his fellows that the Prongslet is telling the truth.'_

With a majority ruling, the map's lines appeared once more as the conversation faded.

"What, was that?" the twins said in tandem, finally able to speak once more.

"Ah," she gave a smile, "Prongs was James Potter; my father. I was telling the truth, my mother wrote down all their nicknames in her journal."

"So who are the others?" Fred asked eagerly, desperate to know who their idols were.

"Now that would be telling," she said with an evil grin.

"Oh, come on," George groaned, "you can't leave us hanging like this."

"How do you deactivate the map?" she asked, ignoring their pleading looks.

"Mischief Managed," they replied together, one tapping a wand to the parchment to make it fade away into an inconspicuous item once more.

"Brilliant," she stated, folding it back up. "Now you want that information…well, I'm going to have to be taking my newly discovered heirloom with me."

"Take it," Fred returned immediately.

"We were going to give it to you anyway," George added.

"Just tell us what you know about them?" the begging eyes were like little dogs, and she felt she could throw them a bone in exchange for the useful little present they'd given her.

"Alright," she relented, rolling the word around her mouth as she decided how to make it interesting, "two of them are still alive, and you've already met one of them."

"That's all you're giving us? George protested.

"It's a simple enough puzzle, since you already have all the information you need," she countered, "besides, I don't think they'd appreciate it if I made it easy."

###########################################################################################

"What have we here?" Jasmine stated as she walked up behind Nadia and Hermione within Honeyduke's, "I'm sure the Dr's Granger would be horrified to see their daughter within a confectionary establishment."

The pair turned around with frowns, and she caught Hermione's eye on the scarf she had given her for her first Christmas.

"I thought you didn't have a permission slip?" Nadia inquired, most likely having recognised her by her voice as her face was under one of her many practiced glamours – in this instance, a non-descript brunette.

"I don't," she replied with a smile, "but I do have useful friends from among the schools greatest rule breakers."

"This is quite a few rules you're breaking, especially with heightened security due to Sirius Black," Hermione reprimanded.

"Eh, a risk, but one worth taking. It's only a problem if I'm caught, after all. Besides," her smile became evil, "I am talking to the girl who suggested brewing polyjuice potion in a school bathroom."

The Gryffindor at least had the decency to blush at the mention of the potion, and the unusual brashness it represented in her.

###########################################################################################

With a sigh, Jasmine lifted her glasses slightly to rub the bridge of her nose, staring at the mess of papers upon her desk. Fudge was looking to be ousted sooner than she had initially planned, what with his bumbling this year. Rita – who appeared to be the most talented investigative reporter she'd ever seen or heard of – had managed to uncover that the orders for the searching of the Hogwarts Express with Dementors came from his office. As did the commands related to them guarding Hogwarts – which had led to the creatures storming the Quidditch pitch en-masse during the opening Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match.

And then, there were all the other various events over the years piling up. Hell, just recently during the summer holidays it was his fault Black was released; by leaving him a newspaper apparently.

He was practically begging for it, and she'd had to stop the blonde reporter from bringing all these things to the front page. They were better saved for later when a full and damning report could be done on Fudge.

It wasn't that she hadn't planned to have him removed – she didn't exactly trust Malfoy entirely, or rely upon him in any major way, and Fudge was firmly in his pocket – it was that she planned on preparing and grooming his successor gradually, bringing up public opinion of him as a saviour while compared to the bumbling current man. Having a candidate push into things fully after a vote of no-confidence in Fudge after two or three years had been her general idea, but it seemed she would have to begin much sooner at this rate. And frankly, she already had too many things to worry about without this, literally, covering her desk.

Absently, she pulled up the group of sheets relating to her most viable candidate: Marcus Fox. He was the twenty year old son of her other employee, and so she had a good stake in him already. He currently worked a mediocre job in the Improper Use of Magic office – essentially a bit of a dead-end for several years as far as job prospects went, as there was little in the way of promotion available except for the Department Head position, which he was ineligible for currently.

Making a decision, she picked up a quill and started penning a few items on a list to achieve, starting with getting him into Internal Affairs – that would be a good place to start, perhaps working a bit higher before starting a move to 'clear out corruption' from the Ministry. That would get the public's attention, and make it easier to play him off against Fudge later.

###########################################################################################

Jasmine was rather put-out as she was rushed from her comfortable seat in the common room where she had been reading a book on Sumerian runes. The prefects had appeared quite harassed, and hadn't answered their questions as people were pulled from the House and bustled down to the Great Hall.

Of course, she was even more put-out as she heard the rumour mill and made her way over to Nadia and Hermione with the Gryffindors.

"Is it true?" she asked upon reaching them.

"About the Fat Lady? Yes, or so she claims," Hermione responded. "Her physical portrait was damaged, that's for sure."

"She sounded pretty terrified as well," Nadia commented.

"She's a drama queen normally, but in this situation I agree it was likely genuine," the girl returned.

"So Sirius Black managed to get into Hogwarts," Jasmine mused concernedly. That he was attempting it was still baffling to her – he must know about the Dementors and that they were in place because of him. And furthermore, why Gryffindor Tower?

Unless the Ministry's belief he was after her was correct, and he assumed she was in Gryffindor like her parents.

She was distracted from these thoughts as Professor McGonagall began sorting them together into Houses, and then by year to make sure they were all accounted for, before sleeping bags appeared on the floor and they were told to get some rest.

As she laid down on the floor of the hall, staring up at the stars above her in the roof, Jasmine's mind was still turning its gears.

And then something clicked as a new piece of information came along from what she had gained just one day beforehand. _The Marauder's Map_.

Black was one of the four that created it.

That meant he knew about the secret paths and passageways inside and outside the castle. Furthermore, that was likely how he was getting inside.

And again, she hit by another thought; Lupin knew about the tunnels, and was aware Black knew, so had he told anyone? By the fact Sirius had gotten inside, she would presume not, although he might do so now.

Lupin; he was getting more and more important. She needed to find a way to get him to talk – and some of the theories hanging around her brain might be just what she needed. If he had any useful information, he'd share it, and if he was working with Black? Well, that would put her one step closer to catching him.

 **A/N: Chapters are flying out at a pretty good rate right now, so I'm going to try and keep this flow up while I can. Then again, this will go up over a more regular set of intervals, so I suppose it doesn't make a difference to you all.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Ever onwards.**

 **Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING, property of respective owners etc.**

Chapter 10

Jasmine awoke bright and early on Christmas morning – much like she always did on every other day of the year – and smiled slightly upon seeing the wrapped gifts poking up from the foot of her bed. Rolling out from under her covers, she stood, stretched and yawned loudly – having got back late the previous night from a meeting with the various persons searching for Black. She was grateful for having the room to herself allowing her such liberties – only three other people in all of Ravenclaw had stayed during these holidays.

With a small smile upon her face, she picked up the closest wrapped gift, a uniform cuboid that was almost certainly a book, in tasteful purple paper interweaved with golden ivy. Reading the tag to see it came from Nadia, Jasmine flipped it over and unwrapped the packaging to unveil an older looking tome entitled ' _Obscure Elixirs from the Orient_ ' by Marcus Smith. Flipping it open to the contents page showed the names of many potions she had never heard of, and she felt a slight bubble of excitement about reading through and then brewing some of them – one of the advantages of being a slight prodigy in potions was Snape allowed her access to the classroom out-of-hours so long as he was present, usually when marking. This wouldn't be such a boon, since she could brew anywhere outside of school, but for having access to both the man's knowledge, and his _very_ well stocked supply room.

Most potions up to OWL level could be made with standardised potions kits each Hogwarts student bought, bar a few exceptions which required things from cupboards around the potions classroom.

At NEWT level, this number was vastly increased, especially in seventh year, and access to the small cupboard-like room off to the side of the classroom was allowed where shelves of rarer and more dangerous ingredients were stashed.

None of this compared to Snape's personal stores, which while she did not have unfettered access to, she could request certain items, he would ask what for, and if her reason was good enough, he would then retrieve them from the locked room that was easily the size of the classroom – if not larger – and was filled with the many things he used for himself and the school. For some of those ingredients, a Potions Mastery was a legal requirement to use, as the effects of misuse were quite dire. Arrogant git though he was, he certainly knew his potions, and his knowledge and aid – if not his lacklustre teaching ability – were a great boon to the select few with his favour. As far as she was aware, that group was limited to a few select Slytherins, and two other Ravenclaws apart from herself, including the head girl. In her first year, there had also been a seventh year Hufflepuff boy, although he was a member of the House of Smith – who had owned various potions businesses since time immemorial, and were descendants of Helga Hufflepuff, and most likely the book she now held was written by a member of their family. She doubted any Gryffindors had ever gained the dour man's interest, though.

Placing the book carefully on her bed, she considered what she had given the brunette girl. The tome on Healing Magics was fairly advanced for someone at a junior level, and contained what had seemed to her a good amount of useful spells in that field, as well as methodology in how they should be applied. The girl was slipping further into her mind as part of the play that was beginning to be set, compounded by how she had given Hermione a field manual from the Department of Criminal Investigations, at the Ministry of Magic. This was a follow-up, of course, to the muggle equivalent she had given the girl the prior year on how a normal detective worked.

Thinking of the bushy-haired Gryffindor, her eyes turned to the particularly unsubtle red and gold wrapped present, which again looked like a book. With a fond smile, she grabbed it and read it as coming from Hermione off of the tag.

Pulling the paper off revealed a thick, leather-bound book entitled ' _A study on African tribal Runes_.' With interest, she flipped the book open and gazed upon the unfamiliar symbols which were not part of the Hogwarts Ancient Runes syllabus at OWL or NEWT level with a grin upon her face. She knew these had allowed these tribes in the past to ink or brand the symbols upon their skin and grow stronger and more resilient through them via syphoning a little magic every day to make muscles grow better, or skin become tougher.

Safe be said, it was a field she at least had academic interest in, perhaps even a little interest in using them personally.

Next was a rather lumpy package with blue paper, and an envelope attached rather than a tag. With a raised eyebrow, she quickly read through the letter from Molly Weasley, once again thanking her profusely for saving her daughter's life, hoping that she was in good health and that she had a Merry Christmas. Unwrapping the gift unveiled a knitted, blue jumper with a black raven on the front, clearly handmade, but of decent quality. She supposed this was what a house-witch such as Mrs Weasley did in the months her huge family was away from her at boarding school. Further included, was a box of homemade mince pies, which – after testing for any harmful ingredients or potions – Jasmine decided was indicative of the 'mother's home cooking' those with loving families always raved about in books. That is to say, they were definitely enjoyable.

Finally, Jasmine took in the bottom package and frowned. She had been surprised to receive more than two presents already, but she had no idea who would be sending her what she believed the final gift to be if the shape was any indicator.

After turning it around and finding no label, note or envelope, she carefully undid the string to unveil a shiny, lacquered broomstick with an artfully moulded shape, and trimmed, symmetrical brush. Engraved on the tip of the handle in what to her eye seemed to be gold leaf was the number '42,' and on the reverse side the word ' _Firebolt_.'

Now, although Jasmine did not follow Quidditch or any other sport – beyond minor interest in betting upon them – even she had heard of the broom in newspapers that experts from Cloud Skimmers Incorporated had spent six years building, and that Quidditch fans were going mad over. This was by no means a cheap broom.

This was not the sort of thing that was sent without a nametag, and she certainly hadn't ordered it herself, so who had? As her mind flicked to the most likely answer, she dropped the broom on reflex, scowling at it.

Black.

Merlin knew where he got the money – unless he managed to contact Gringotts and use his position of Head of House Black to send for it by post. After all, the goblins took little notice of what was legal and illegal in the magical world, and they would be able to charge for such a transaction, so would be more than happy with lining their own pockets.

No matter how it had gotten here, or from whom it was sent, it definitely needed looking into, and she wouldn't be flying on it until she could get some confirmation. The best thing to do was probably to send a letter to the company that made it – they should have a receipt for who bought it, especially since her broom was so helpfully numbered.

################################################################################

"If you think there's a danger, you should hand it in to the teachers to look at," Hermione stated as they entered the Great Hall, "and I think you're right; it most likely did come from Sirius Black."

"Hermione," Jasmine began, before an old codger appeared before them as if from nowhere.

"Did I hear mention of Sirius Black?" Dumbledore asked concernedly, turning his twinkling gaze on the pair of Gryffindors beside her – he knew she'd be unlikely to tell him everything in the same way they would.

"A broom, a…Firebolt wasn't it?" Hermione looked over to her for confirmation, to which she briskly nodded her head once, but said nothing. "Jasmine received one anonymously, and we think it might be sent by him and be cursed to throw her off or something."

"If that is the case, I'm going to have to ask that you allow the staff to examine this broom," the old meddler replied worriedly.

"That will not be necessary, sir," the ravenette stated with a force smile, "I have everything quite in hand."

"I'm going to have to insist, Miss Potter," he said with a disappointed look – he seemed to default to a wise old man, then this grandfather persona, and then next should be either the harmless old coot or the defeater of Grindelwald, depending on the situation.

"That broomstick is a piece of _my_ personal property and you have no right to seek to demand it," she replied cagily, "furthermore, if Hermione had allowed me to continue, I would have added I am having it looked over by a _professional_ as soon as possible."

"Ah, well I suppose that is a not unreasonable attitude to take," he relented, since really there was no way he could supersede that. "I suppose I must merely wish you a Merry Christmas." And with that, he took off.

"Nosy old codger," the ravenette muttered.

"Jasmine!" Hermione exclaimed, scandalised, "that's _Dumbledore_ you're talking about!"

"So?" she shot back, "he's a senile old bastard well past his prime and with a practically unhealthy fascination about my private life." She sighed at the shocked expressions on the Gryffindor's faces. "Safe be said, I have numerous bones to pick with him, but that should not be a topic for today. Shall we just eat some lunch?"

There were so few people within the castle – due to both the holiday, and likely the presence of Dementors surrounding the school grounds – that Dumbledore shoved the House tables against the wall, and transfigured a single long one to fit all the current residents of the school sitting down to a Christmas meal. Even the elusive Trelawney was present, but there was one notable exception, named by Dumbledore stating that Lupin was feeling quite ill, and remarking if Severus had given him his potion.

"That confirms that theory," Jasmine had muttered, and from across the table Hermione met her with sharp eyes.

"What?" Nadia asked from beside the girl.

"Isn't it obvious?" the other Gryffindor responded, and it was Jasmine's turn to look knowingly at her.

Lupin was a werewolf.

And that raised rather a lot of questions.

################################################################################

Once again, Jasmine found herself waiting behind after a Defence lesson, flicking the door closed with her wand made the Professor notice her still standing there.

"Did you have a question, Miss Potter?" he asked with confusion.

"Several, really," she replied nonchalantly, "I suppose one of them would be how you managed to hide your transformations when at school." The man froze, and looked at her with fearful eyes. "Did you not need the two days either side of the full moon off as well like you do now?"

"How did you work it out?" he asked quietly.

"Well, apart from two separate 'illnesses' around the full moon and the fact that Snape practically wrote it on the blackboard for us when he took your class, it really wasn't difficult. And 'Moony,' not exactly a subtle nickname," she stated.

"You're as sharp as your mother, Miss Potter," he said with a grim, humourless smile.

"Oh, call me Jasmine; had I grown up with my parents, I'm sure we would have known each other much better."

"Yes, I daresay we would," he leaned against the edge of his desk, "and to answer your original question, it is due to the Wolfsbane potion I take, which is a recent invention that leaves me in my right mind when I transform on the full moon, but has side effects."

"If you're trying to sell to me that you're safe to be around children, don't bother, as I don't care in the slightest about your furry little problem," she stated, "it only affects you one day out of thirty, after all." Plus she dealt with far more dangerous werewolves fairly often, seeing as she employed so many.

"Thank-you; it's nice to not to be treated like a monster," he replied with a hesitant smile.

"However," she continued, "that's not to say others feel the same way, and I'm sure plenty of parents would be interested to know of your affliction." His smile vanished. "I'll be blunt; the last time I questioned you about Sirius Black, you lied to me. If you do so again, I will know. So, I ask you again: What do you know about him?" Lupin rubbed the bridge of his nose for a second before saying anything.

"James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, Sirius and I were the closest of friends once. We thought nothing could separate us, and it remained that way even through the war as we got out of Hogwarts. We joined Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix and fought against the Death Eaters together. I never suspected Black was a traitor; he was the consummate playboy joker, who enjoyed too much drinking and picking up women," his eyes gained a faraway look as he remembered bygone years. "What's strange is that he always seemed to loathe his relatives and their pureblood elitism – to the extent he ran away in fifth year and was taken in by the Potters during the summers until he was of age. I believe the only member of his family he had spoken to in the years before Voldemort's defeat was Andromeda Tonks – and she secreted herself, her husband and her new-born daughter away somewhere once the war began. He always talked about his family with hatred, especially Bellatrix – not least after she supposedly had a hand in killing the McKinnon's, including his ex-girlfriend Mary."

"There's something else – there's nothing bad about sharing all of this, you expressly have a secret you've kept from everyone." She knew he hadn't talked about the passages, and she had now set a few thin collapsing wards too small to notice that would inform her if someone went down into all of the tunnels except the one which seemed to exit on the map by the Whomping Willow – she couldn't figure out quite where it was or how to get near it with the angry tree in the way.

"We…" he sighed, "I suppose you already know about my curse, and the Marauders, you may as well know the rest. In first year, the three of them – primarily Sirius and James – worked out what I was. From then on, they tried to help me out by helping to sneak me to the Shrieking Shack where I stayed during full moons." That was an interesting titbit, but she kept quiet rather than ask how he got to the outskirts of Hogsmeade. "In order to be able to stay with me during my transformation…they decided to become animagi, and succeeded in our second year." Jasmine's eyes widened at the proclamation; not only was that quite illegal to be an unregistered animagus, but to be so at twelve years old? "While in animal form, the wolf had no interest in them, so they stayed with me on the full moons from then on."

"What forms did they have?" she inquired curiously.

"James was a stag, Peter was a rat, and Sirius was a dog," he answered, "we always used to say he looked like a Grim." ' _Prongs, Wormtail, Padfoot. That explains the nicknames_ ,' she added silently, and her mind was spinning at this revelation. It explained why he had told no-one; after all it would require revealing his condition.

"Right," she eventually replied, filing away the information to break down at a later date, "was there anything else?"

"I just told you a secret I've kept for decades, and you already know I'm a werewolf, what more is there to tell?" he said tiredly.

"Well, I had theories over how you might have been helping him and got him onto school grounds, but as an animagus I think I can see that he had rather more options," she moved to pick up her bag with all her books in. "Thank-you for the information, sir, and any concerns about your affliction being revealed need not come from me. Good day."

As she walked out of his classroom, he didn't appear particularly consoled.

################################################################################

"Is there any particular reason the redheaded boy is glaring at you like you're the reincarnation of Hitler?" Jasmine posed curiously to the bushy-haired girl beside her at the front of the History of Magic classroom – they were some of the few who were actually bothering to take notes.

"He's obsessed with the idea that Crookshanks ate his rat," the Gryffindor growled in return. "His incessant annoying comments whenever I'm in the vicinity are getting quite annoying."

"It's what cats do, and there's plenty of others in the tower; I say he should have kept his rat locked up or something," Nadia commented.

"Try telling that to him," Hermione said with a snort, "he hasn't got an ounce of logic in his head, and the emotional range of a teaspoon. He doesn't even care about the damn animal; I've heard him complain about it being a hand-me-down for years."

"The Weasley family hand a lot of things down. It must be an old rat, though; surely it didn't have long for this world anyway?" Jasmine queried.

"Apparently it used to belong to his brother Percy, so it must have been fairly ancient."

################################################################################

As Jasmine walked into the entry-hall just after lunch, she was greeted by the sight of a middle-aged man arguing with Professor Dumbledore.

"I think you'll find I have an appointment to keep with Miss Potter," he stated with no small hint of annoyance.

"I'm sorry, but such things are not allowed to take place on school grounds during term time, not least on a school day, unless approved by the Headmaster," he chidingly responded, as if dealing with a small child.

"Unless," she declared, moving up behind them, "that appointment is relating to the student in question's safety or of business to do with the DMLE. Naturally, a potentially cursed item is a hazard to my personal safety." She affixed Dumbledore with a steely gaze, "are you really this adamant about your staff examining my broom? Or perhaps about me being unable to fly?"

"Jasmine, I merely have to enforce school rules, regardless of whom has broken them," he replied in his grandfatherly tone.

"As I believe I have mentioned before, Professor, we are not on a first name basis," her piece said, she promptly ignored the man, "Mr Maxwell, I presume?"

"That's right, Oliver Maxwell, at your service," the man gave a slight bow and doffed his bowler hat to reveal mousy brown hair. "I'm terribly sorry about the delay, what with the Christmas holidays and all."

"Not at all," she replied, still completely ignoring the headmaster as she moved past him, "where would you like to do this?"

"The Quidditch pitch would seem appropriate, no?" he stated with a grin.

She nodded at him, and made for the wide doors out into the rare springtime sunshine.

"Thank-you for agreeing to come out, by the way," she said as they walked.

"Oh, don't mention it. My boss all but had a conniption when it became a possibility a broom we'd sent to the Girl-Who-Lived might be cursed," he looked slightly sheepish, "it would be quite bad publicity if such a famous figure as yourself was injured riding one of our brooms not a month after release. And of course, the anonymous transfer was quite fishy as far as paying for it went – you might have been right on the money guessing it was Sirius Black."

"Naturally," she replied as they walked into the main entrance to the pitch, ignoring the stairs leading up into the walls and the doors to the changing rooms on both sides and heading straight to the pitch itself. On the way, Jasmine pulled out her mokeskin pouch from around her neck, "Accio Firebolt." Defying the laws of physics, the long broom flew out of the small pouch to be caught by her deft hand.

"That's an advanced charm for a third year," Maxwell commented.

"I read ahead a lot," she replied, setting the broom upon the turf.

Gaining a professional look in his eyes, the man leaned down and ran his hands along the broom, noting everything about it as he flipped it over and around a few times.

"No physical defects, it's like it just came out of our workshop," he commented before pulling his wand out and hitting it with numerous diagnostic spells, most of which she hadn't heard of. After a minute or so of various responses in the form of smoke or light, he tucked his wand away and drew what looked like an obsidian stick, capped with gold. Running the stick all the way from the handle to the tip of the bristles to the handle again, he shrugged as he put it away. "Well, I've tried everything I know to do," he said, picking up the broom and looking it over with a critical eye, "and without boasting too much, I'd say very few people on this earth could potentially know anything more about it than I do. As far as I can tell, it's clean, and you have a rather generous anonymous fan out there somewhere."

"Well, thank-you, and my apologies for bringing you out here over nothing," she replied as he handed her the broom.

"Oh, don't worry about it. Better a false alarm than you breaking a leg or the like," he gestured at the broom, "since its all working and you haven't had a chance to, why don't you try it out? She's the premier broom on the market, and it's something else to experience, let me tell you that."

She eyed the broom speculatively – she hadn't actually ridden one since Flitwick's challenge guarding the Philosopher's Stone. She was an academic, not a sports nut after all. Still…she could confess to enjoying being on a broom the few brief times she had.

Carefully, she slipped the broom in-between her legs and pushed off from the ground. In an instant, she was gone.

Her feet automatically attached themselves to the rear footrests, and her eyes widened as she experienced the sheer acceleration of the thing. The seats of the stadium whipped past, and before she knew it, she was flying tight loops around the goalposts, banking heavily on each turn with the slightest push of her arms or slip outwards of her foot. The Firebolt took off like a dream, and she did a barrel-roll in mid-air as she twisted away to follow the stands back to the other side to fly inside the middle goalpost, and she could feel the hair streaming out behind her impact briefly upon the metal.

Twisting, she corkscrewed madly upwards in a tight spiral, before slamming herself downwards to stare in wonder at the speed at which the ground rushed up to meet her. At the last possible moment, she pulled the front of the broom back up, and skimmed the grass lightly with the tips of her shoes. In wonderment, she held out a hand to brush against the green blades as they whipped past, smiling at the sheer _freedom_ of being on a broom. She also understood why the Holyhead Harpies were such a good team if the pressure of G-Forces up from the broom on her was any indication; the faster one took a corner, the more painful it would become for a man. She had no such limitation.

Somewhere, from far inside old memories, a line from a film she had once seen a part of flickered to the forefront of her mind: ' _Never astride the broom; a witch is always a lady unless circumstances dictate otherwise_.'

With a slight smile, she shifted her feet while pulling upwards a bit and pushing upon the handle to stay airborne as she changed her centre of mass. After a few careful movements, she was sitting side saddle upon the broom, still travelling at a fair speed.

With a twist of the handle, she turned to head back to the entranceway, and once she got close, lost a bit of speed and simply hopped off, her knees bending a little to absorb the impulse of impact. As she walked over to the entranceway, she frowned to see not only an astounded Mr Maxwell, but also a group that was recognisably the Ravenclaw Quidditch team in full Quidditch robes.

"I have never seen flying like that," pronounced the captain – a fifth year prefect named Roger Davies. Mutters of a ' _Perfect Wronski Feint_ ,' and ' _Have you ever seen someone sit sideways on a broom?_ ' only exacerbated her feeling that she had just made an error. "Have you ever tried playing seeker?"

################################################################################

"I never figured you for an athlete," declared a bemused Hermione as she approached the ravenette on 'their' windowsill. Said girl groaned and put down her copy of a Quidditch rulebook.

"I'm not," she replied, "I just like flying is all. It's not even an athlete's sport, really, there's no real exercise."

"There is for the other six players," the Gryffindor remarked, "they have to do more work than you in some ways. _You_ just need good reflexes and a fast broom."

"There's more to it than that," Jasmine defended, "until I sight the snitch, it's my responsibility to annoy the other team and generally act as a human bludger. I'm not particularly looking forward to that part…"

Hermione, for her part, just laughed.

################################################################################

"Tell me, Mr Fox, how is your son doing?" The man froze at her question.

"He, he's working at the Ministry, ma'am. He's fine as far as I know…" his fear was palpable.

"Well, he'll be receiving a promotion to another department at some point today. Could you please inform him he has great things ahead of him if he plays his cards right." It was phrased as a command, not as an order.

"Miss Adler, this is my son, I'd rather he not be a part of… all of this."

"Mr Fox; if our employer's plans proceed, he will be the Minister for Magic within a few years. Think on that for a moment if you will, before denying a most gracious offer."

################################################################################

The Hand of Glory sat beside her emitting soft light from bluebell flames on her bed as Jasmine lay cross-legged upon it examining the Marauder's Map, with her curtains closed obviously. After some reasoning and arguing with the implanted personalities of the Marauders, they had consented to allow her access to look at the inner workings of the map without interference.

Every new thing she found as she moved through layers and layers of inlaid runes made her more astounded that this actually worked. She could see that they had clearly started the foundations fairly early on, as the inner arrays were very crude, getting more complex as they moved outwards. This must have taken the four of them _years_ to get working, and undeniably the end result was impressive, even if the way to get there amounted to hundreds of simple 'programs' to get there. They were wizards, after all, so they didn't know anything about muggle skills in programming which could have vastly improved various aspects of this map.

The part she found most curious, she pondered as she moved the shadowy shapes back into the parchment with a yawn, was that it appeared to be tied into Hogwarts' wards, presumably by a direct connection to the wardstones. How on earth they managed that, she would quite like to know.

Just as she was touching her wand to the map to deactivate it, she paused, frowning as she tried to reconcile what she had just seen. Surely she was tired? That was impossible, there was no way…

She searched the area around where she had seen it, and stared as she beheld the name once again.

Peter Pettigrew.

He was walking the halls of Hogwarts, not that far from the kitchens, the little footsteps pulling the name with them as he moved.

That just wasn't _possible_. He was a dozen years dead.

Almost without thinking about it, she had summoned her invisibility cloak, grabbed the hand of glory, and ran out of her dorm.

################################################################################

As she creeped back inside Ravenclaw tower, her heart ceased its restless beating. She had nearly been caught by Snape – which would not have gone down well if she had been – and had stood over where Pettigrew should have been, and saw nothing.

Retreating to her room, she resumed her earlier position and deactivated the map before touching her wand to it.

"How can the map be wrong?" she whispered. Slowly, the response formed.

' _Mr Moony is shocked someone would dare to say such a thing._

 _Mr Prongs would like to add he is offended._

 _Mr Wormtail would like to clarify the Map is_ never _wrong._

 _Mr Padfoot would say that the user must be getting it wrong._ '

"I saw the name of a man who has been dead for twelve years upon this map," she replied with frustration. The response was simple, and for once wasn't in third person or from each individual Marauder.

' _The Map never lies._ '

################################################################################

The celebration after Jasmine's first Quidditch match, which had been against Gryffindor, was quite something. They had been a hundred and thirty points down in the tournament over all, with Slytherin holding the lead. She had caught the snitch only five minutes and one goal – by Gryffindor's well-oiled chaser team – in. That put them twenty points ahead of Slytherin, with them only having one match left to play in the summer term against the snakes.

The idea of Ravenclaw – the academic house that never really fielded many athletes, and only had an average of 3rd or 4th every year – could be in with a chance of the cup apparently was exciting to many of her fellows, and she found herself the centre of attention in a party for the first time in her life. The rest of the team were particularly ecstatic, especially Cho Chang, who preferred to play chaser but had been forced to be the seeker in their first match of the year.

' _Then again, perhaps she isn't the most excited of the lot,_ ' Jasmine mused as she watched Roger Davies get up on a table singing an out of key rendition of 'We are the Champions.'

################################################################################

"Right, I know the last time you were all around for a formal duelling match was with a less than impressive teacher," Lupin stated from his position on the long rectangular stage, "hopefully, today will be a bit more productive, as well as showing me where you stand as far as spells for your OWLs are concerned. Furthermore, we'll be doing this properly. All formal duelling rules apply, and you will be fighting to incapacitation, disarmament or surrender. I do not want to see anything deadly flying around or any dirty play," he eyed the section of the room containing the Slytherins, "but, you need not worry about stray spells when in the audience, as Professor Flitwick and I will be at either end maintaining the shields as well as being there to stop anyone from going too far on their opponent. Do you all understand what is and isn't allowed?"

"Yes, sir," chorused the third years filling the Great Hall.

"Good. Now, you'll all be duelling the person closest to your level according to the notes left to me by Auror Shacklebolt and my own observations this year," he pulled a list from a pocket of his worn robes, "the starting pair will be Jasmine Potter and Susan Bones."

Jasmine gave a speculative look to the redhead, remembering Hermione's frustration at consistently losing the position as best in the year to not just the ravenette, but also the Hufflepuff girl from the other class. Then again, it likely had no small part to do with the fact that Susan Bones was the niece of Amelia Bones – the head of the DMLE – and likely had extra training due to that.

Of course, the other teen was eyeing her in much the same way as they stepped up to the duelling platform – Jasmine at Flitwick's end, while Susan went to Lupin's. She wasn't surprised at the presence of her head of house, since the diminutive quarter-goblin was renowned for being an ex-duelling champion among the Ravenclaws, she had more been surprised that he was absent from Lockhart's previous attempt. Then again, that was probably due to Lockhart himself.

As the pair of teenage girls reached their positions, they bowed to each other, wands flicked out to the side, before pointing them at each other.

"On my mark you will begin," Lupin announced, "ready… fight!"

Bones moved first, firing off a concussion hex, swiftly followed up by three piercers. Jasmine quickly raised a strong shield against the spells, and grinned at her opponent, glad the other girl was about as interested in holding back as she herself was.

She returned fire with two yellow blasting curses, traced behind by a tombstone-grey bone breaker – a spell as borderline grey as its hue suggested. Bones wasn't hit by any of them, but only by bringing up a second shield after quickly spotting the bone breaker. This was going to be a tough fight.

They traded hexes, curses and the occasional jinx for several minutes, both taking risks and dodging rather than blocking or shielding certain spells, and both attempting to outwit the other rather than anything else.

As Jasmine casted a freezing charm across the wooden deck partially turning to quicksand to stop the spread, she had an idea, and quickly formulated the moves in her head before casting an 'Aguamenti' at the floor halfway between them and pushing it towards Susan with the occasional spell. When the water had soaked the wood beneath the girl, she smiled and pointed her wand at where the water began.

"Glacius!" she incanted, flicking her wand to send the white spell at the damp wood and making a film of ice swiftly move forth to cover the wood. Bones' hastily cast heating charm stopped the ice before it could reach her, and turned it all back to water, but her distraction had allowed Jasmine time to prepare the real sucker punch. The spell she had drawn the energy for snapped from her wand in a bolt of elemental lightning, immediately conducting along the path of the water to a wide-eyed redhead.

In an almost comical way, the girl was blasted in a backflip off the stage, swiftly being caught by Lupin's spell to stop her falling to the ground.

"Very well done, the pair of you," he announced as he set her safely upon the ground and Jasmine jumped off the platform, "though I did see quite a lot of spells that were definitely…extracurricular." That was one word for the spells they had been using – which were more likely to be at a NEWT level, and could quite possibly be seen coming from the wand of a hit wizard, if not an Auror. She supposed that the reason he hadn't stopped the match was that they weren't technically lethal or dark, and that they were both capable of dealing with the more powerful spells.

"Good match," Jasmine stated as she held out a hand to the Bones scion. The redhead looked at her strangely before shaking.

"Good match," she echoed, before heading over to her fellow Hufflepuffs.

Equally, Jasmine settled back to watch Hermione face off against Hannah Abbott – another Hufflepuff, and Bones' best friend. From the looks of the match, Abbott had received much the same training as Susan, most likely from her, but Hermione was no slouch either, albeit using different methods. The bushy-haired girl favoured transfiguration, affecting the environment around her competitor a lot, as well as using odd jinxes at a strange time. A well timed tooth-growing jinx more often used in a schoolyard made the blonde's front teeth unnaturally long, and limited how well she could say a spell's incantation – limiting the power of them. A colour changing charm of all things visibly turned the girl's eyes green all over, bewildering the teenager.

Hermione's final move was a complex water-to-stone transfiguration often used by builders, and she twisted the ambient water vapour in the air into stone cat statues which she then animated to attacking Hannah. As the girl attempted to deal with the beasts harassing her, Hermione revealed her master stroke.

"Expelliarmus," she incanted, and Abbott looked up but did nothing as the red spell hit her squarely in the chest and she lost her wand. _Then_ Jasmine understood the colour changing charm – it acted as a filter on her eyes, which would specifically block crimson light like the disarming spell. A clever little application of relatively simple physics.

As the girl stepped down off of the stage and reversed her spells' effects on her blonde counterpart, Jasmine was already working out how she could put such ideas into her own strategy in future.

################################################################################

It was a Sunday evening near the end of term that Jasmine was in the small corridor above the courtyard looking at the Marauder's map for Hermione and Nadia. She had been hoping to talk to them and give them a slightly smug ' _bad luck_ ,' over Ravenclaw's hard-won victory over Slytherin in the Quidditch match that morning. They had just pipped Gryffindor at the post for the cup, by a measly ten points, but it was a win none-the-less, and Ravenclaw's first in more than a decade.

Her slight smile as she searched the map dropped as she saw four names gathered outside, with a fifth approaching from some distance away. As she took in the sight, gears turned in her head and information clicked into place forming a perfect sequence of revelations that hit her one-by-one with all the subtlety of a shotgun blast.

"Oh, hell," she muttered, before taking off at a breakneck pace.

The four gathered were Hermione Granger, Nadia Longbottom, Ronald Weasley, and Peter Pettigrew. And the one sneaking up on them through the foliage was one Sirius Black.

 **A/N: Calling it there at just over six thousand words – I like to keep my average per chapter around five. Next chapter should see the end of Third year – finally – and movement on into the summer and resolution of the Sirius Black issue. I'm currently liking this update schedule, so chapters will be going out on a Monday from here on out (or should be, hopefully) as it means I can write them over the weekend and then look-over and spell-check them with a fresh mind on Monday.  
**

 **Also, there are numerous references that managed to work their way into this chapter. I'll be impressed if anyone gets all of them.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Well, some people made connections to the references in the previous chapter, with some correct guesses (though I'm afraid as much as I'm a Whovian, Doctor Who was not among them, at least I don't think so.) Firstly, yes I like the number 42, being a Douglas Adams fan; secondly the riding astride a broom line is from Bedknobs and Broomsticks; and I think the last one was the green filter Hermione used on Hannah Abbott's eyes, which was an admittedly obscure reference to White Squirrel's 'The Arithmancer' (well worth a read by the way).**

 **And I would also like to add that Jasmine's comment about one day in thirty affecting Lupin is a generalisation – I know it's not exactly thirty days between full moons, but it's an approximation that rolls off the tongue better. Plus, in ' _Sherlock_ ' (BBC), Holmes wasn't aware that the Earth goes around the Sun, so I think I'm allowed a bit of artistic licence.**

 **And finally (this is making for a long A/N) if you hadn't realised, I'm English, and therefore I use the English spellings of various words rather than the Americanisations. (This comes after an anonymous Guest review, to which I would reply: in Britain, we say discrete, not discreet.)**

 **Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING, property of respective owners etc.**

Chapter 11

As Jasmine practically flew across the castle grounds, she finally beheld those she was looking for.

"You could at least apologise for accusing my cat for all these months," Hermione's voice drifted from where the trio stood not far from the Whomping Willow, on the stone path that led to Hagrid's hut.

"And for having a go at us as well, you ungrateful git," Nadia added. The rat. That damn bloody rat the redheaded moron had accused Hermione's cat of eating.

"Stupefy!" Jasmine's crimson spell got their attention as it flew through the evening air, impacting against the ground as it shot by the great, black shaggy dog that was bounding towards the Weasley boy. In a flash, his leg was caught in the hound's jaws and dragged backwards towards the Whomping Willow. Her next attempt at a stunner was caught by one of the branches as they whipped around, splintering it a little. By the time the tree had moved out of the way, the last they saw of Ronald Weasley was him disappearing down a hidden hole in the roots of the arboreal annoyance.

"What the hell was that?" Nadia asked bewilderedly.

"Sirius Black coming back to finish the job he started, get back!" she pulled the pair of Gryffindors backwards as a clump of branches smashed down where they had previously stood. Apparently the tree didn't like being hit with stunners. "We need to get down there."

"How?" Hermione stated, before freezing at the sight of her half-kneazle cat at the roots of the tree very deliberately pressing a paw down upon one specific root. All of a sudden, the Whomping Willow ceased its crazy movement, appearing frozen in time. "Crookshanks?"

"Come on!" Jasmine said in reply, running towards where the feline was located, "this is our only chance."

With a reckless abandon that actually surprised herself, the ravenette jumped down the hole, bending at the knees a little as she emerged into a small earthen hollow framed by the roots. Moving out of the way, she was quickly followed by Hermione, but no Nadia.

"Nadia went to get help," Hermione said in explanation, "now what the Hell is going on?"

"She what? Argh!" Jasmine practically growled in frustration, "never mind, deal with that later. Black first." With that, she took off down the tunnel that the hollow lead into, ignoring the dirt from overhanging vine-like roots impacting on her pristine hair.

"Where are we even going?" Hermione demanded as she followed.

"The Shrieking Shack," the ravenette stated, certain in her deduction. Sure enough, they quickly emerged in a dilapidated cellar. Hearing a shriek from upstairs, Jasmine bolted up them into the building proper, barely glancing at ruined furniture and the boarded up windows as she sprinted up another set of stairs to an old bedroom. Upon entering the room, she took in the sight of the terrified Weasley upon the bed, pointing behind her.

"It's him!" he squeaked, "he's an animagus!" Hermione followed her in just in time for the door to close, revealing Sirius Black from where he had been hiding behind it. The man looked gaunt, haggard and haunted, with sunken eyes and his torn prisoner's uniform.

"I know," Jasmine said softly, making the man's eyebrow rise at her admission and the complete lack of surprise at seeing him there. "Where's the rat?"

"What?" both Hermione and Ron exclaimed.

"In his pocket," the lone man in the room replied in a hoarse voice while pointing at Ron, "I can smell the bastard."

"It's time to get some answers, Petrificus Totalus," the ravenette growled, firing the spell at Black. A flick of her wand drew a scraggly sleeve up Black's forearm to display dirty, but unblemished skin. She swiftly placed a locking charm on the door with her still drawn wand and then pointed it at Ron. "Get the rat out. Now."

"Jasmine, what're you-," Hermione began to protest before being interrupted.

"Hermione, you'll understand in a moment. Ronald, wasn't it? The rat, now!" at her command the boy fearfully pulled the madly scrabbling animal from his trousers. He dropped the grey animal as it bit him, and quickly scurried along the dusty old bedspread. Jasmine aimed for a single second, before firing off the spell she had learnt after talking to Lupin to return an animagus to human form.

Immediately, space seemed to warp as the animal grew quickly to a fat, balding and pimply faced man with patchy brown hair and watery blue eyes. God, even as a man he looked like a rat.

"Jasmine!" he simpered, moving forwards towards her.

"Stupefy," the red bolt of light hit the snivelling man, and she swiftly dropped to one knee and rolled up his worn and tattered sleeve. The bloody red mark upon his skin said it all. "You little bastard."

Standing there, next to the man responsible, Jasmine felt a bubble of hate rising within her. All those years of abuse by the Dursleys were by no small part his fault at the end of it. Sure, she had killed two of those responsible, but that didn't mean it wasn't a lasting scar on her memory, ingrained into her being.

"Who the hell is that?" she looked up at Hermione's question, seeing an equally bewildered Ronald.

"Meet Peter Pettigrew; spy, traitor and Death Eater," she answered, ignoring their shocked looks as she made for Black and applied the counter curse to his frozen state. "Isn't that right, godfather mine?"

"He betrayed Lily and James," the man replied with a nod, "I chased him down with a need for revenge, and I caught up to him in a muggle street just outside of Diagon." He shook his head sadly, "he cut off his finger and transformed, leaving some sort of blasting curse behind which must have hit something with the huge explosion. Then I was tossed in Azkaban and left to rot for twelve years!" He snarled the last part with anger – which was entirely fair when you thought about the fact that he spent a dozen years in the most inhumane place on Earth due to a crime he didn't commit.

"How did you escape?" she asked, desperate for information. This whole situation was a mess that turned everything on its head – all her plans regarding Black were in tatters, and she'd need to recalculate everything back down to ground level.

"Changed into dog form and slipped out; the Dementors never bothered me while I was a canine," he responded, "I left after Fudge handed me a newspaper with a picture of him," he pointed at Ron, "with that bloody rat. And I left to finish the job I'd been accused of." He raised a wand he'd gained from somewhere, pointing it at Pettigrew's still form.

He was stopped from doing that, however, as the door was smashed in to reveal the gaunt face of the defence professor, who immediately pointed his wand inside the room.

"Get back girls!" he stated, and looked confused as they didn't move.

"The situation is different than we first thought, Professor Lupin," Jasmine said, gesturing to Pettigrew with his sleeve rolled up to reveal the Dark Mark. And then what she'd said hit her. _Lupin_.

"Oh, Merlin. Peter! But…he's…" the man looked entirely bewildered, looking between Pettigrew and Black again and again.

"Pettigrew was the secret keeper, Black is innocent," Jasmine said shortly, "but what the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Her voice was a growl bordering on hysterics as she stared at the man as if he'd grown a second head.

"Oh my…Padfoot," he turned to the scraggly haired man, "I…"

"I know, Moony, I know," Black replied, rushing forth to grasp the man in a brief hug, which was responded to quickly.

"Enough with the reunion, what the fuck are you doing, Lupin? Are you trying to get us killed?" Jasmine shouted, making the pair break apart.

"Oh God," Hermione added, her eyes widening as she worked it out.

"What? Miss Longbottom caught me in the entrance hall, and I left to find you two as quickly as I could," the man in question asked; his ignorance as clear as his stupidity.

"It's a _full moon_ you braindead moron!" she yelled, making the two men's eyes widen. "Everybody out, grab the Gryffindor and Pettigrew, we need to get out of here." The boy protested as to the way she referred to him, so she promptly stunned him and moved on. "You," she glared at the werewolf, "stay put." A pair of Mobilicorpus' from Black and Hermione had the injured boy and the prisoner levitated out of the room, and Jasmine slammed the door shut before summoning a piece of chalk from her mokeskin pouch. With frantic movements, she replicated from memory the four runes Hermione had used on the train earlier that year. "Alveo," she incanted with her wand tip to the glyphs, watching them begin to glow before rushing to catch up with the others. "We have ten minutes, max," she stated as she got behind where they were lowering the pair floating on air into the tunnel.

"What did you do?" Hermione asked.

"Used your runic array to keep him locked in," she answered, dropping down into the tunnel behind them.

"You didn't use the one from the train did you?" the girl asked in a worried tone.

"Yes?"

"That's supposed to defend against spell fire! It won't last a minute against a fully transformed werewolf."

"Oh joy," the ravenette muttered, flicking her wand with a murmured 'Lumos' to bring light to the tunnel as they quickened their pace.

"I say we leave this pile of shit to be devoured. It's all he deserves," Black growled as he levitated Pettigrew.

"That pile of shit is your ticket to freedom, don't waste it by killing him," Jasmine responded blithely, since with these witnesses she could hardly get the man killed by the Wizengamot now – Hermione would never speak to her again for one thing, and his trial would go entirely differently either way – so she needed to clear his name and get named his heir the more traditional way if she still wanted to gain the House of Black under her belt. Handing Pettigrew over on a silver platter would go a long way towards that.

"Freedom…that's a strange idea to me, to be honest," the man replied.

"What've you had these past few months then?" Hermione inquired.

"Living in a cave outside Hogsmeade and begging for scraps from the villagers is not freedom," he stated firmly. "The tunnel opening is just ahead."

With much manoeuvring and a little cursing from the sickly ex-prisoner, they eventually got all of them above ground near the base of the Whomping Willow, where Crookshanks greeted them with a soft ' _meow_.' "Clever cat, that one, I managed to persuade him about Pettigrew months ago."

"So that's why he went after Scabbers so…much," the Gryffindor trailed off as the temperature dropped massively, and their eyes inclined to the sky to see, descending down, dozens upon dozens of cloaked figures.

"Run for the castle!" Jasmine shouted, taking in the sight of the Dementors with no small amount of fear, feeling their pressure on her mind.

Of course, since their luck was so terrible, it was at that moment that their two passengers woke up, likely from the effects of the Dementors. Ronald immediately struggled and fell to the floor with a pained yelp, but Pettigrew was apparently more lucid and quickly shrank down into a rat before moving to scurry away.

"No!" Black yelled, leaping after him before a Dementor swooped down and he staggered as a wispy whiteness was pulled from his mouth. The cloaked skeleton appeared to slow as if to get a better angle to suck before being blasted in the face by a spectral raven that Jasmine had summoned. She grabbed the sluggish Black, and pulled him closer to the other three of them as she swept her wand around her head in a circle, making the avian Patronus fly about in a protective orbit.

It wasn't enough, however, as Jasmine was forced to close her eyes and concentrate on her memory of her first Christmas present – the scarf Hermione gave her – as the depressive aura settled across her like a wet blanket.

"There's too many!" she shouted as she physically felt them pushing closer, icy coldness settling in her heart. She couldn't keep this up on her own, even she as a reasonably powerful witch had limits. The last sensation she felt before blacking out was hearing the sound of Phoenix song grating upon her ears.

##########################################################

"No!" Jasmine exclaimed as she suddenly sat up in bed, looking around in confusion at the Hogwarts Hospital wing.

"Don't you worry Miss Potter, the headmaster put stop to the Dementors and you should recover quickly. Eat this, it'll help," Madame Pomphrey stood by her bed and handed her a bar of Honeyduke's chocolate.

"Black?" she asked quickly, not caring in the least about eating some bloody confectionary.

"Mr Black has been imprisoned and is awaiting the Minister to arrive and officially sentence him to the Kiss. And good-riddance, I daresay he deserves it with all the trouble we've gone to this year." She tuned out the rest of the woman's nattering as she moved away to a bed containing Hermione – who appeared to be fine, just asleep. Jasmine's mind was racing as her perfectly laid plans being ripped into even smaller shreds. She was not going to let anyone else get what was rightfully hers!

She picked up her wand from its rest on her bedside table and casted a silencing charm on herself, before sneaking out of the hospital wing while the nurse's back was still turned. As soon as she was beyond its thankfully open doors, she broke out into a sprint, heading to the corridor that overlooked the courtyard with its open arches.

Hastily, she summoned her secondary wand, invisibility cloak and her Firebolt from her mokeskin pouch, cursing every second it cost her as the cloak formed around her and she mounted her broom. With a push, she leaped from the space and circled up higher. Her broom was not invisible, but it would be very difficult to see against the night sky.

Now she was airborne, she surveyed the building. Where would they keep Black? Somewhere defensible was a given and likely somewhere that could be guarded by…

There.

Dementors swarming around the Astronomy tower. Leaning forwards, she put on a burst of speed even as she reached her wand forward, it slipping from her sleeve as she summoned her Patronus to fly in front of her like the tip of an arrow. It was a real draw on her already depleted magical core, especially forcing the Light spell through a wand more suited to darkness, but she ignored the tiredness in her limbs.

As she approached, the Dementors scattered away from the icy roof, and Jasmine made for the small outcropped building on the ramparts with a heavy iron door. Swiftly landing with her raven circling protectively overhead against the circling creatures – thankfully only eight or so, the rest being absent – she stepped up to the grate of the door and looked inside to see the slumped figure.

"Sirius!" she hissed loudly, cursing as he didn't respond. Standing back, she decided to abandon subtlety. "Reducto," the yellow spell erupted from her ebony wand and impacted on the door to make it blow back off its hinges, barely hanging on to the wall as it slumped to the side. Stepping inside what she knew to be the astronomy supply room – with old telescopes lying around – she knelt by the convict. "Rennervate," she stated, watching as he jerked up suddenly, gasping for air.

"What the?" he said in confusion, and she willed the invisibility cloak to turn off, and flipped back her hood. "Jasmine!"

"Can you walk?" she asked hurriedly, not caring for social niceties.

"I think so," the man replied with a groan.

"How about flying?" he affixed her with a look, before his eyes flicked to the Firebolt clasped in her hand.

"I'll manage."

"Good," she replied shortly, hauling the man up even as her cloak flicked back on.

"How did you…?" he pointed vaguely in the direction of her invisible form.

"I'll explain later, come on," she commanded, mounting her broom as she left the confines of the room. "Get on."

He shuffled awkwardly onto the broom behind her – the racing broom only having been built for one – and he clasped arms around her invisible body to stay stable. With a lot less speed, and a great deal more care, she once more flew past the Dementors, her raven staying behind to dissuade them from following, just managing to exist at the edge of her influence as she moved further and further away. As quickly as she dared, she descended back down to the space above the courtyard, landing by her and Hermione's favourite arch for people-watching.

"Here's where we part," she stated, hopping off the broom and pulling off her cloak. "Take the broom and head back to your cave or whatever – I'd stick low above the Forbidden Forest if I were you, it's probably the safest route with Dementors still around, and you will be faster than them so you can outrun them. I'll come see you as soon as possible, but until then stay put. Don't set a foot outside safety until I come for you, understood?"

"Yes ma'am," he replied with a jaunty salute. "Will you be okay?"

"I'll be fine, now go!" she commanded, making a shooing gesture before turning to run back along the corridor to the hospital wing without waiting to see him leave.

As she ran, she stuffed her effects back into her pouch and considered the time she'd been gone – a little over six minutes, perhaps? It hadn't taken long, but she had to hope Pomphrey hadn't left the room or that no-one else had dropped by either. Her relief was palpable as she was greeted by a non-impressed nurse upon her return.

"There you are Miss Potter, you should not be running around after facing down a whole group of Dementors," the old woman said chidingly, "I was about to come and look for you."

"Sorry, Madame Pomphrey, I needed to visit the bathroom to…throw up," she cited the excuse off the top of her head, thankful for her research into Dementors and their effects upon learning of their being part of the Ministry's groups chasing Black. Nausea was one of the side effects to a heavy exposure, and the nurse clearly bought it as she hustled the ravenette back to bed.

"You should have told me, you silly girl," she replied, "there's a perfectly serviceable bathroom over there." She pointed to a door nearby her office.

"I didn't know, sorry," Jasmine stated, feigning an apologetic look. That much at least was the truth – she hadn't spent that long inside here other than at the end of her second year visiting Hermione every day.

"Well, a lesson learned then. Drink this," the woman handed her a milky white potion which she gulped down, only then realising she recognised it as a sleeping draught. "Get some decent rest; you'll feel better in the morning," she just heard the woman say before she slipped back into the land of Morpheus.

##########################################################

"It's all over the castle," Hermione stated as the ravenette approached their window seat high up in a tower. "Sirius Black escaping custody again, Ministry baffled, parents in outrage etc."

"What an exciting story," Jasmine replied as she sat down, surveying the small world below.

"Mm, but I don't think he escaped alone." The ravenette raised a playful eyebrow at the girl opposite her, smiling a little. "You see, I woke up not long after you did – practically having chocolate shoved down my throat – and you weren't in your bed and Pomphrey was ranting about reckless patients running off. I think you had a little something to do with saving your dogfather." Jasmine snorted at the name – quite the little pun she would probably use on Sirius directly later.

"My dear Hermione, are you accusing me of a crime?" she replied in a mock-aghast tone of voice, "I'm a fine upstanding citizen I'll have you know." It was Hermione's turn to snort in amusement.

"Forget accusing, I'm stating. Did you give him your broom or something?"

"Excellent deduction, you clever girl, you." Jasmine smiled as she gazed into mirthful blue eyes.

"Have to admit, I like it when you all me that; it makes me feel like a proper detective," Hermione said with a small smile.

"When did I call you that before?" Jasmine inquired curiously, cycling back through her memory for when she had used the term.

"Passed a year a couple of days ago, I think," Hermione responded with a grin, before freezing with her eyes wide. Jasmine frowned both at her sudden deer-in-the-headlights expression and the impossible date.

"Weren't you petrified this time last year…" she said confusedly before the sudden guilty look on the bushy-haired girl's face made it click. "You… you were conscious? Through those weeks?"

"Yes," the Gryffindor breathed, "I remember you coming every day and I wanted to move or do something but I couldn't." The ravenette felt the slight urge to shy away at the thought of the girl remembering her silent vigil as she did her homework down there every day, keeping her petrified form company. And then her stomach dropped through her chest as she remembered what else she did. That single sweet moment she had created on a whim and was now regretting heavily.

"You… remember everything?" she queried hesitantly, already knowing the answer as Hermione bit her bottom lip.

"Yes," the girl answered simply, looking out of the window rather than at her companion.

"You never said anything, for a full year, you… I would have thought you'd refuse to be near me or something," the ravenette stated softly.

"No," her head whipped back around, "never that. I just… I needed to sort things out, if you understand. I've never dealt with or even considered… _that_ sort of thing before."

It was the Ravenclaw's turn to stare out of the window in awkwardness; she had put the girl in a strange situation, knowing her friend was enamoured with her, and that they were both of the same sex was also a concern – she knew the muggleborn had mentioned growing up under a Church of England private school education, which although hardly as puritanical as centuries before, still held some deep-rooted dislike of homosexuality. Jasmine had had it more easy – never having any such beliefs practiced around her beyond her bigoted relatives saying that just about everyone who wasn't purely English going back generations and worshipping any other God was proof of their country going to hell, and she discounted anything the pair and their child said as complete fallacies. The Mirror of Erised had made things easier in some ways as well, although it was the relic's fault for her acknowledging what should have been invisible for years to come at least, it had allowed her to come to terms with what was apparently her heart's desire. Knowing it was true helped her come to terms with it over the space of more than two years, and she was still trying to quantify and understand her feelings.

"It was nice," the quiet voice brought her back to reality, and she turned to a once more hesitant girl. "The kiss, I mean." Part of Jasmine's heart leapt from its normally icy shell at the admission. "I kind of craved contact while petrified, and you holding my hand…" Gods above, she'd done that as well, hadn't she? She might have taken advantage of the fact she had thought the girl wouldn't be aware of what she had been doing.

"I missed you," Jasmine stated, "the only intelligent mind like my own I've ever come across."

"An equal," Hermione echoed, and their gazes met for a moment once more.

And then the bushy-haired girl closed the suddenly short space between them and pressed their lips together for a moment, taking Jasmine entirely by surprise.

Hot, soft flesh pressed against her own pink lips, and she automatically turned her head sideways a little to move into the sudden kiss, her body positively thrumming with excitement.

In the space of a second that seemed to last for an eternity, the Gryffindor pulled back, blushing furiously as she looked incredibly sheepish.

"I had to know," she muttered in explanation, "still feels good." The latter part was added in a quieter voice, but it made the ravenette's heart soar.

Her pale hand reached up to caress the burning cheeks of her counterpart's face, and she smiled at the bushy-haired girl with more confidence than she felt as this time she leaned forward, giving her plenty of time to resist.

She didn't.

The second kiss lasted much longer than the first, and they moved against each other even as their bodies melted into the embrace, nerve endings firing as their lips moulded around each other.

When finally they did pull back for air, their pupils were dilated, cheeks flushed, and satisfied smiles defined their faces.

"Definitely feels good," Jasmine stated with a grin, causing Hermione to snort a little, "so where do we stand now?" The question was more hesitant – they were still two thirteen year old girls discovering feelings, after all, despite their mental maturity.

"I don't know," the Gryffindor answered simply, "I guess we're going to have to find out."

##########################################################

For those who noticed – which practically amounted to a nosy old man and a young brunette – two girls within the castle walked with lighter steps upon the following day.

##########################################################

The hike through the woods outside Hogsmeade was treacherous, but not overly so for the well prepared. Jasmine's hiking boots were more than up to the job, but she had been forced to ditch her invisibility cloak as it got caught on branches and dragged in the mud too much.

Finally reaching at the top of the rise she found herself on, she briefly looked back at Hogsmeade before returning her gaze to the bumpy landscape ahead. Finding Black among these close to mountainous hills was probably going to be akin to finding a needle in a haystack.

That was, until she saw the great shaggy dog standing on a slight precipice not far off. He barked happily with his tongue lolling out stupidly as she climbed the nearest bit of grassy hill to get up to him. When she finally did reach what looked like a slight outcropping of dark grey stone, the great mutt barked once more and spun around to shuffle through a hole in the small cliff-face behind him.

Peering at it dubiously, Jasmine rolled her eyes before dropping to hands and knees to fit into the opening that barely went above waist height when she was standing.

She relented from mentioning the lack of dignity as she crawled through the hole. Although, at least she wasn't wearing a skirt, rather than the thick jeans she had on hand luckily, coupled with a rugby shirt and a jacket with various useful pockets. Finally, after a good half minute of crawling, the tunnel opened out into a small cavern where Sirius Black was sitting in human form by a small waterfall running into a pool of water. Scattered about the room-sized cave were old bones and mouldy copies of the Daily Prophet. She inclined her head upwards to see a slight crack in the ceiling by the water source, through which the small amount of light was entering the space.

"Welcome to chez Black, with the finest cuisine and most comfortable accommodations," the man said sarcastically, gesturing to the space that was naturally formed from dark rock. "Now you know the secret place I was hiding in for months."

"Nice digs," she replied with equal sarcasm, wringing a small smile from the emaciated man. ' _He really needs a few decent meals_ ,' ran through Jasmine's head, ' _not to mention a shave, amongst other things, if he's going to be presentable_.'

"Oh and here's this back," the man reached into a darker corner she hadn't noticed and pulled out her Firebolt, "wouldn't want to steal your Christmas present back."

"So it was you," Jasmine stated as she took it back, taking a few moments to return it to her mokeskin pouch. "Hermione and I did wonder; I had a man from the company round to test it for curses and the like."

"Oh, I hadn't thought of that," Black said with a frown.

"What, you thought I'd immediately trust an object given to me by an anonymous person?" she replied, "I am not a moron, thank-you."

"No, you're not," he agreed, settling down into a cross-legged position closer to her, "from what I've heard," he gestured to the old papers, "my goddaughter is growing into quite the accomplished witch. Basilisks?"

"One, singular," she replied nonchalantly, "but that's not important. What is important is getting your name cleared. I need to find a way to get you before the Wizengamot so you can be tried properly. Not to mention food, proper accommodation, money, etcetera, not to mention your position."

"Position?" he asked with confusion.

"You do realise you are the direct heir to the House of Black? If we can get you into the vault at Gringotts – which shouldn't be too hard – we can find a connection for you to claim it through," the man grimaced.

"I'd rather have nothing to do with my relatives," he answered shortly.

"Gods above, you'd pass up on all that you could have because you hated them? Why not use the same methods of revenge I planned for you?" He perked an eyebrow at her statement.

"What did you plan to do to me?" he asked curiously.

"I planned to have you sentenced by the Wizengamot, claim House Black as my own, and use its dirty money and power to do some good," she answered. That was mainly a lie – apart from the first part – but it would serve to get him off his backside and help her plans along. "If you want to spit on your mother's grave, why not use the power accorded to the House of Black with the light sect?" That had, however, been her plan. She was originally going to enter the Wizengamot and use those many seats – twelve including the Potter ones – to endear herself to the light while also orchestrating the dark via Moriarty. The Neutrals would fall one way or the other on each issue, and she'd have the Wizengamot dancing to her tune. That plan was still plausible, but it now involved Sirius for a brief stretch of time. At least until he had served his purpose.

"That… is not a bad idea, I suppose," the man mused, "she'd be fuming if I used those seats to push for muggleborn rights or something."

"There's Mister Padfoot," she congratulated, "now, I have one question."

"What?"

"Do you solemnly swear you are up to no good?" The man fell about laughing at her question before repeating the vow with a solemn and straight face.

##########################################################

As Jasmine knocked upon the office door of one Remus Lupin, she pondered the events of the day before while twisting the invisible heir's ring of black metal upon her finger. Getting through Gringotts had been easy, since all the goblins cared about was gold, and with a little greasing of palms they just let them down to the Black vault without questions asked or authorities alerted. Once in the vault, it was child's play to find an heirloom and for Sirius to claim his position, then swiftly naming her as his heir. Annoyingly, since she had no adult to officially do so as her Head of House, she would have to wait until age fifteen as was traditional before being presented before the Wizengamot as the up-and-coming heir to the House of Potter, and then wait until she was seventeen before claiming it fully. Still, she was an heiress to two separate Ancient and Noble Houses, so that would do for now.

Of course, she'd been slightly less than impressed as Sirius showed her the Black Townhouse – 12 Grimmauld Place. Apart for some tracts of land and various building rented out to tenants, this was the only usable property as Black Manor had been destroyed during the war. Usable was too kind a word in Jasmine's opinion, as the building had been left to rot, and within its structure numerous beasts had moved into the old building thrumming with the magic practised within its walls for perhaps two centuries. The only resident was a foul mouthed house-elf who espoused traditional Black values while hating his new master. He had likened her to 'Mistress Bellatrix' when she mentioned cutting his tongue out if he didn't shut up, and she wasn't sure whether to be flattered or not at being compared to Voldemort's pet psychopath, but she took it as a compliment from the elf who then deferred to her slightly. She was half worried he could smell the use of dark magic on her or something – house elf magic was not a kind well understood, not least because most wizards didn't pay much attention to them.

Still, Sirius now had a place to live, albeit it barely being habitable, and under her suggestion it was hidden under a Fidelius charm with herself as the caster and secret-keeper. It not only prevented someone like Narcissa Malfoy suddenly deciding to visit the old abandoned building if she remembered it existed, but also both allowed her to control who entered – keeping a nameless old bastard out until she could bring Sirius round to a more favourable way of thinking – and it gave her an excuse to be away from him during the coming summer, as the keeper could not spend extended periods of time under the charm without it decaying slightly. Of course, that meant she needed someone else to look after him and help clear up the dilapidated building.

And so, she was here.

Lupin didn't seem to know whether to smile or not as he opened his door, eventually forcing one onto his face.

"Good afternoon, Miss Potter," he greeted, "come on in." He moved out of the way, and she nodded deferentially to his invite as she entered. A grimace crossed her face as she noted the half-packed nature of the room.

"I'm sorry you're leaving; you've been a very good teacher, and I can say that neither Hermione nor I told the Prophet, although I can't speak for that Gryffindor boy," she said with a hint of genuine regret. What with her first two teachers being awful, and then having two competent ones, she really didn't want to go back to terrible teaching.

"Ah, it's not your fault. Snape's the one responsible, although he'd never admit to it or have done it directly. He and I have had a rather bad relationship with each other since our school days, and he was adamant that I helped Sirius escape. Speaking of which, did you…?" he left the question hanging as he gestured at her. She didn't answer, instead drawing her wand.

"Homenum Revelio," she said clearly, looking around as she and the professor – or ex-professor – were the only blue glows that showed up. She further casted a silencing ward around them, just to be sure. "He's safe; I got him out on a broom," she replied after satisfying herself that they couldn't be heard.

"That's a relief off my back at least," the man stated as he flicked his wand to pack a case with his clothes and then lock shut. "Knowing that after all these years the man I cursed was innocent while the one I mourned was a traitor… it's shaken my worldview somewhat."

"Well, if you want to make it up to the man, I have an offer for you," she leant back against the desk. "How would you like free room and board, as well as a chance to reconnect with your friend, and work with your speciality as well?"

"I'm listening," Lupin replied with interest.

"Then listen carefully as I'm only going to say this one," she stated clearly. "Sirius Black is currently at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Islington, London."

"Fidelius?" he asked with an eyebrow raised.

"Yes. It's not that difficult a spell to cast, it just needed an expensive wardstone and a good deal of power – I slept like a log last night, and I'm still running a bit empty as far as magic is concerned – and now Sirius is protected until I can find a way to haul him in front of the Wizengamot under veritaserum. However, to get to that point, he needs help," she looked at Lupin carefully, "I don't know if you saw him properly the other night, but he's not well. He practically looks like a skeleton, and is probably suffering nightmares and the like from long-term exposure to Dementors. He's going to need a lot to get back on his feet, not least cleaning up that building to make it habitable."

"Habitable? As in it isn't currently?"

"That's the job using your specialisation I mentioned," she pulled a large bag of galleons from her pocket, "take this and buy a crate of fire whiskey, and as many materials to deal with a massive infestation of household pests as you can carry."

"Jasmine, I can't accept-," she cut him off before he could be aggravatingly humble.

"This is money from the Black Vault going towards a piece of Black property and its current Head of House," Jasmine stated simply. "And if that doesn't give you incentive, this is the money of a bunch of old bigots who probably helped make the laws and perpetuate the prejudices that currently have you packing your bags. Go spend it on something they'd disapprove of." Just like Sirius, the man snorted, before being persuaded enough by the argument to take the bag.

"You make a good point," he relented. "I think I'll make it two crates; the Padfoot I knew once would go through one quicker than you'd believe."

"Then sally forth and get my dogfather stone drunk," she declared, "now I'm afraid I missed a fair bit of work gallivanting about yesterday and in the Hospital Wing before that, so I need to go write a few last-minute essays." As she turned to leave, taking down the silencing ward as she did, the man called out to her.

"Wait, how did you get out of the castle?"

"I solemnly swear I was up to no good," she threw back over her shoulder, making the old wolf laugh.

 **A/N: There's too much nice stuff going on; I need to put more Moriarty-ness in here somewhere, but I've been running the ink dry on ideas of what she's doing as him behind the scenes. She's already in the state of mafia boss, and her investments are all over the place. Maybe introducing large-scale gambling to wizards? Who knows? This chapter and the few following it have been the hardest to write, and I'm going back over and over them and am _still_ not happy. I get the feeling I may be introducing romance too early, but its too written in now to matter. I just hope I can write it properly.  
**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: It's a long way to the top if you want to rock'n'roll. There's a reference to quite a big writer in this chapter that I imagine a lot of people will get.**

 **Also, I've apparently been proven wrong as to the discrete/discreet spelling. I've been using the 'discrete' spelling because I see it so much in mathematics and I never realised it actually had a different meaning. Anyway, that's some egg on my face, regardless, and I'll try and remember to go back and change that next time I do a 'sweep.' And apologies to a certain guest reviewer are in order.**

 **And finally, I'd like to thank everyone for the assurances and advice in reviews – I've replied to several of you, but I'd like to add this in as well to all of you. The continued support really is appreciated, and it boggles my mind how popular this story now is. I will further add that you may just see a few of your ideas popping up at some point.**

 **And back again for more; I've had to deal with a** _ **lot**_ **of irl stuff of late which is causing me massive problems – not least my room being flooded thanks to bloody shoddy cowboy builders. So, I have done no writing or checking over of the finished chapters. I do have two other finished chapters, so the update schedule should still be maintained for at least two more weeks but I'm worried about the time beyond that. In short, please don't expect too much of me right now – both in writing quantity and quality.**

 **Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING, property of respective owners etc.**

Chapter 12

Ivy Manor was a fairly nice looking building, Jasmine decided as she stalked around it. Construction had finished a few weeks ago, and the muggle construction crews had had their minds wiped of the location before the magicals started moving in to add a few little things. Such as the extensive ward system, including each private room being lockable to the extreme, and the whole place being practically undetectable to the Ministry who would register no magic-usage build-up under these wards.

It was not the only place she had commissioned to be built over the last year, but it was the most important. Containing rooms for her lieutenants, and what amounted to a barracks for her 'soldiers'. Extensive basement areas held supplies and various other things, and generally the building was more of a fortress or head of command than the unassuming idyllic manor it appeared to be, with ivy climbing the walls and a garden hemmed in by trees to mask the target ranges and such.

' _Of course, this is the most important room,_ ' she thought as she opened the tall doors to the meeting room.

The long ebony table was elegant in its simplicity, slightly curved along the sides and with artfully carved legs. The chairs too, were crafted from finest ebony, with tall pointed backs into which was carved an 'M' motif, fine green upholstery, and evenly spaced down the table. Although, the chair upon one end was slightly different, being more akin to a throne really, since she hadn't been able to resist, and was more squared off and solid than the others, as well as shrouded in shadow from one of only two light sources in the room. Said lamps were located behind Moriarty's chair – because of course it was his chair – and on the opposite wall at the far end of the table. Said opposite wall held a door that lead through to his 'study,' read, war-room.

As Jasmine moved into said adjoining room, she smiled at the fireplace with a pair of crossed swords above it, the bookshelves lining the room, and the giant map of Great Britain and Ireland with pins sticking in it taking up one wall.

This represented the conquest she had put forward. Dark green pins were all over the map, signifying their work, and sorted with a further dot of colour on the end. A white dot stood for a legitimate business, black was a more illegal business, yellow was a warehouse, and purple was a safe house or base of operations such as this one, albeit the others being smaller and more like barracks. The number of green pins was something that made Jasmine feel more than a little proud.

Bronze pins stood for neutrals of note, mainly the houses where those neutral politicians lived.

Finally, red pins dotted the map here-and-there representing threats. Hogwarts was naturally top of the list, as well as the Ministry. Further locations and businesses which opposed or infringed upon their own were listed as well.

And, of course, she had spent much of the first two weeks of this Summer going to all of the places with a green pin and carving a few small runes into the wardstones and writing the corresponding ones into separate ledgers which now rested on a shelf neatly stacked with green covers and golden titles for each group of building.

She had learned a great deal from the Marauder's Map, and applying it here had been simple since she wasn't making a map, merely registering who was in the buildings at current times – so they would know if a safe house was in use or the like – and also allow the owners or residents to send emergency messages to the books here and back to the location as well.

From here, all of Moriarty's dealings in England could be managed.

Naturally, the room was warded to ridiculous degrees, including blood wards she herself had installed, keyed to three people: herself, Greyback, and Scabior. Perhaps in time more might be added, but for now she was playing it safe. She was well aware just how much damage could be done if the information concealed here was revealed to a dangerous party. It was why the room shut itself off from the rest of the manor in every way possible as soon as the outer wards of the building registered a breach and if the wards of the room itself were broken through, explosive potions in the walls would destroy everything within – she was taking no chances when guarding the very heart of her growing empire.

' _It's nearly show time_ ,' Jasmine thought to herself as she took the second door out of the room into the top corridor of the building where Moriarty's three captains – including herself as Adler of course – had sets of rooms. Moving past the – again, blood warded – door to her own rooms, she prepared for the evening to come.

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 _The room was dark, and the atmosphere tense as the various occupants of the chairs looked around at each other – bar the woman who sat at the far-right seat of the table, who was busily taking and shuffling notes with a quill, still not having removed her customary sunglasses that obscured her face despite the low-light._

 _Gathered in the room, were the leaders of a criminal empire after all – the Mafioso's awaiting their godfather._

 _At the end of the table closest to the empty throne sat the three Captains – Adler, Greyback and Scabior. All knew or had dealt with the former at one point or another, and most the latter two as well. Next to Adler was Fox, and to the sweating man's right the woman known as Rosa. At Greyback's side was another werewolf, his oldest lieutenant who didn't speak much more beyond grunts. Further down the table came more business runners, drug smugglers, and even an investment handler by the name of Hound. All gathered to await one man, none saying a word._

" _Gathered friends," declared a sudden, cultured voice, and people looked to the throne as a cloaked figure sat upon it who hadn't been there a moment before. As he shifted, silver runes flickered in what little light there was upon his cloak. "What a heartening sight to see us all here, at our first biannual meeting, in this newly built room. Not so long ago, many of you were purposeless, but now we stand together in a might of empire the likes of which have never been seen in this country. All we have done and built is a great achievement, but the greatest is yet to come." He leaned back heavily in his seat, and several onlookers had to suppress the desire to look under the mysterious man's hood. "So let us begin," Moriarty eventually stated._

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With a rolling of her muscles, Jasmine faded back into visibility, restoring life to her limbs as she shook about a bit in the privacy of her rooms. Staying perfectly still was a brilliant way to unnerve people and make yourself seem like a commanding presence, but it really had made her feel stiff. ' _Note to self, add cushioning charms to the throne_ ,' she thought to herself as she shrugged off her invisibility cloak and threw it over a sofa, quickly followed by her amulet. With a stray hand, she scratched the back of her freed hair as she watched the door open once more and an identical version of herself walk out – bar the glasses obscuring her face.

"Two turns?" she asked her older self, already pulling the time turner from beneath her robes – the amount of money and resources she'd expended to get ahold of one of these would boggle the mind, but it was likely to be worth it with all she could achieve.

"If I tell you that now, you won't remember it," the other woman replied, levying a wand straight at her head.

"Ah, of course. Well I should remind you, then, that the chair needs cushioning charms," she responded.

"Obliviate."

Jasmine blinked, before looking around briefly at the other version of herself standing in the middle of her rooms at Ivy Manor.

"Two turns," her duplicate stated, before turning to walk into the bathroom.

Noticing the time turner already in her hands, she twisted the little golden disk over twice, watching as the world seemed to blur slightly before slowing down to her standing exactly where she previously was, two hours earlier.

Gathering some writing utensils and some parchment to take notes with, she proceeded towards the meeting room.

' _Two more hours, and then I can have a rest_ ,' flittered across her mind.

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"Well, they've achieved something at least," the ravenette stated as she looked around the clean entrance hall, although she eyed a large set of curtains that appeared to be nailed back with wariness. She didn't want to have to deal with Walburga Black again.

Stepping carefully through the entryway while making as little noise as possibly, she peeked her head into the living room. This appeared to be where the duo had made camp, if its clean – if dilapidated – look said anything when mixed with the two mattresses on the floor, and several empty bottles of fire whiskey between the two snoring men. She debated summoning Kreacher to dump a bucket of cold water on them – which he would likely do with glee – but decided against it, as it wouldn't be particularly good for Sirius' health most likely.

"Rennervate," she said twice instead, watching as the two men were wrenched from sleep and then immediately began groaning and clutching their heads. "That big of a binge last night?"

"Shh," protested Sirius, "not so loud." Remus merely groaned.

"Sounds like you had fun," Jasmine commented, "how far have you got as far as cleaning goes?"

"Ground floor's done, and we blitzed the stairs. Merlin my head," Sirius replied as he sat up, "started work on my old bedroom, but that room has been abandoned and empty even longer than the rest of this place."

"I'm surprised your mother didn't torch it after you left, if her portrait is anything to go by," she responded. "How are _you_ doing?"

"I'm good, minus the hangover," he said, "I need coffee."

"I had a feeling you might say that," she pulled a packet of instant from an expanded pocket, "I meant to give this to Remus back on day one."

"Gimme!" the man lunged for it, and she didn't move as he fell face-first into the coffee table by overextending. The aforementioned werewolf snorted at the sight, apparently having recovered enough to crawl up into an armchair.

"I could do with a cup of that as well," the man stated.

"Me first," Black almost growled, and Jasmine couldn't help but let out a chuckle at the antics of the pair.

"You're like children," she said amusedly as she conjured two mugs and pulled a bottle of water from an extended pocket, unscrewing the cap and adding a measure of coffee first and then some water before applying a basic heating charm.

"How much do you have in those pockets?" Remus asked, staring at where she had pulled the two litre bottle from.

"Everything needed for basic survival in a pinch," she replied, "and before you say anything about paranoia; it isn't paranoia if they really are out to get you."

"Who?" Sirius asked confusedly while he grabbed one of the mugs as it began steaming.

"I'm the girl-who-lived," she answered drily as she handed the other mug to a grateful werewolf, "who isn't after me? It's either mass-murdering Death Eaters," she gestured at Sirius, "or rabid reporters, or maybe it's just your bog-standard annoyance on one day or another like Voldemort and his fifty-foot basilisk."

"And?" her godfather asked with a raised eyebrow.

"And," she confirmed, perfectly seriously. "However I'm soon off to go brave a more difficult beast: politics. I've exchanged a few letters with someone who may be able to help us get you a trial." He sat up at that. "Don't get too excited yet. Her family may be old allies of House Potter, but she only knows me as a friend of her granddaughter's, and she absolutely hates your family name. I have a bit of work to do, and I can't just come out and say 'I have Sirius Black, and he's innocent, you mind helping us out?'"

"Are you talking about Augusta Longbottom?" Remus asked curiously as he cautiously sipped his coffee.

"Got it in one," Jasmine replied. "This will be my first time meeting her, but Nadia tends to talk about her being quite the battle-axe."

"Piece of advice," the man stated, "don't try to bullshit her."

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This was the day – finally – after an agonising two weeks, her semi-pseudo-maybe-girlfriend was back from a trip to France with her parents. They hadn't had much time to explore feelings at the end of term, having been too short a timeframe.

But now, she was back, and Jasmine had booked a very out-of-the-way booth at a nice Italian restaurant in muggle London, luckily not too far from Diagon Alley so both of them were able to floo in. The ravenette currently sat on the red cushion of the circular bench, perusing the menu idly as she awaited her date.

When a waiter finally escorted a blushing girl to the booth, she couldn't help but smile at the radiant sight.

"Ciao la mia bellezza," Jasmine said as the girl shuffled along onto the bench across the small round table from her.

"Jasmine!" the girl just about hissed at her, "I didn't realise you meant a restaurant like this!" Hermione gestured at her more smart-casual clothing of a simple summer dress overlaid with a dark jacket.

"Sorry, couldn't help myself, and I think you look great," the girl replied with a sheepish smile, before turning to the still waiting man, and spoke in rapid Italian for a moment. Once he finished writing upon a small notebook, he bowed and left quickly.

"What was that?" she asked, clearly not having understood a word.

"I was just ordering us some mineral water and a plate of ravioli to start; pasta is generally a good thing to start with and I've heard this place is very good. Hope you'll forgive me for being a little presumptuous," she gave another guilty smile.

"I didn't know you spoke Italian," the girl decided on saying rather than protesting her making a choice for her.

"I used to teach myself languages to amuse myself in school before I came to Hogwarts, along with some advanced mathematics, which has come in quite useful in Arithmancy," Jasmine replied.

"Are you sure we should discuss school here? I mean this is a muggle place…" the bushy-haired girl said in a low whisper.

"Localised silencing ward over the table," Jasmine replied, picking up a previously unnoticed small and round piece of slate with a few runes on it, "plus we're in quite an out-of-the-way location. I felt you'd appreciate some privacy."

"You're implying you don't," Hermione said with a small smile.

"Well, I suppose a little, but at the same time I want to climb the tallest building in London and proclaim to the skies that I'm dating the most incredible woman I've ever met," that wrought another delicious blush from the girl's face.

"I suppose this does count as a date," she relented after a few moments, "but this place seems a bit much."

"I'll confess, I like nice food, and that at a place like this, you can receive some peace and quiet and no questions asked," she smiled a little, "it's one of the things I like about the muggle world – I have anonymity."

"Is the girl-who-lived hype that bad?" the Gryffindor inquired curiously.

"Not always, but no matter where I am I get stares, or the occasional person coming over to thank me or something. There's less in school, since people acclimate to the fact I exist fairly quickly, but the last two years I've caught first years early on sneaking into the library to catch a glimpse of me, and then running away giggling when I notice them. It can get annoying."

"I can imagine," Hermione stated drily.

"It's not even the fame that's the worst part," she added, "it's the fact that they all have an image of something that's nothing to do with me. All of this fame comes from my mother dying for me; it's nothing to do with me as a person."

"Except for killing a basilisk."

"Well, yes I did that, but the rest is all just hype and nonsense over someone who doesn't exist. Jasmine Potter is nothing like the girl-who-lived." ' _By a lot more than I care to mention_ ,' she added silently, thinking of her various criminal enterprises that would turn the nation's view of her upside-down. "But enough of my ranting; how was France?"

The bushy-haired girl launched into anecdotes about various French vineyards and historical monuments she had visited with her parents, only stopping as the food arrived with a chilled bottle of water.

"I'll confess, once I'm legal to, I would quite like to take a drive along the Riviera from Monaco to Rome or Naples and see the sights along the way," Jasmine said before popping a piece of ravioli in her mouth, savouring the taste.

"Maybe steal a fortune in gold bullion?" Hermione replied lightly, making the ravenette frown.

"I'm sorry, what?" she asked with confusion.

"Have you never seen the Italian Job?" the muggleborn said with wide eyes.

"I'm going to presume that's a film and thereby say no," Jasmine replied, spearing another piece of her pasta, "I never got to do such things as going to the cinema in my childhood."

"Why not?" The question gave her pause – how best to say this? Lying while using the truth tended to be the most effective method.

"The family I was placed with after my parents died both knew of the existence of magic, and loathed it wholeheartedly. And naturally, they hated myself by extension," she explained, trying to gauge Hermione's open-jawed expression.

"Is that an understatement meaning you had an abusive childhood?"

"In short, yes," she answered blithely. "Before you ask the follow-up questions; the man is dead, caught in a car accident not long after I entered Hogwarts, and his wife died in a house fire – most likely she had forgotten how to operate something in the kitchen, considering I did most of the cooking when I lived with them." That was a mix of truth and lie – she had done most of the cooking while under their roof, but Petunia had died before the house went up in flames.

"Why did you never say anything?" the girl replied, aghast.

"I didn't feel it needed saying – I haven't seen them since before I left for Hogwarts," she smiled slightly, "a little advantage of the oversights of bureaucracy is that Dumbledore has assured everyone I am 'quite safe' with my muggle relatives and no-one need inquire – least of all himself – and that means no-one from the magical world knows of my guardians or where they lived, or indeed the fact they're dead. Equally, in the muggle world, I don't legally exist – no birth certificate or anything, Jasmine Potter simply is non-existent."

"That's why you never go home in the holidays," the girl stated.

"Exactly; and during these past summers, I've just rented a room at the Leaky Cauldron – although it's not as luxurious, it's more convenient than the muggle world."

"Bloody hell."

"You seem quite disturbed."

"That's because I am."

"You needn't worry yourself unduly, Hermione. What's in the past is in the past, and the future is bright for me once I turn seventeen and get to be a rich heiress," she grinned, "I was personally thinking of a small country manor with a fully-equipped potions lab and a well-stocked library."

"Still, the fact that you're essentially on your own…"

"Oh, come now, Hermione. I do not require a parental figure to lead me by the hand through the trouble and strife of the world until I'm of age; you and I both have mental maturities which exceed those our peers will reach in another ten years."

"It's just so alien of an idea to me; I've always had my parents around to help me out when I've needed it, or to stand by me."

"Doctors Daniel and Emma Granger," Jasmine stated, "members of the most feared group in this world."

"What?" Hermione asked with surprise.

"The British Dental Association," Jasmine answered ruefully, wringing a laugh from her companion.

"I thought you were referring to…never mind."

"What?"

"My dad spent several years with what my mother refers to as his ' _Sports and Social_ ' club before I was born." Jasmine's eyebrow rose at the name.

"And here was me thinking I'd only have to worry about him polishing his shotgun; should I bring a Kevlar vest if I ever get to meet them?"

"Um," the girl pushed around her last piece of pasta on her plate, "that may be a week today." She said the last part very quickly, but it was hardly enough to stop Jasmine understanding.

"I'm meeting them a week today?"

"They asked me to invite you to dinner; they want to meet you."

"Did you tell them about…" she gestured at the pair of them.

"Yes, well, mum sort of guessed."

"Right." This promised to be awkward.

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"I think that went well," Jasmine stated as she closed the door after following Hermione into her bedroom in the Granger family's home. "Apart from when your father showed me that pistol of his mother's and asked if he needed to give it to you."

"He was pretty happy with your answer; I think he likes you," Hermione replied as she settled on her bed. She had of course told the man that, yes, he should, as she'd prefer the girl be as defended as possible, regardless of whom from.

Still, the overall impression was that the Grangers were a very nice couple. Getting on slightly in age, Daniel showed some grey hair by his ears, neatly trimmed back and suiting him in a dignified way that added to his still-toned build. Emma was more rosy faced, and she was the source of the bushy-hair it seemed, but was a very kind woman who had aged very well, not seeming that far over thirty and looking very much like what Hermione would when older, which boded well.

"Well, you've taken me to something of your choice, would you now allow me to do the same?" Jasmine brokered hesitantly.

"Are we taking turns?" Hermione replied amusedly, "because if so, this wasn't my choice but my parents', and you had the last outing at that restaurant."

"True, but I'm going to ask you anyway. First, I'm going to presume you've received your Hogwarts letter?" At the girl's nod, she continued. "And I'll also presume you saw the dress robes among the requirements?"

"Yes; I'll confess to being a bit confused."

"For a woman, they amount to a dress rather than robes; it's just a formality and makes it a unisex term. I was hoping you would accompany me to Twilfitt and Tattings' to be measured for your dress when you are going to Diagon – I have some plans for something special."

"I wasn't going to bother with whatever social event required a dress; you know I'm not a fan of them. Do you know what it's for?"

"A Yule Ball."

"But, there hasn't been one of those since the Triwizard Tournament was last held," Hermione cocked her head in confusion, likely quoting passages from her beloved ' _Hogwarts: A History'_ in her head.

"Which would lead you to deduce…?"

"You're kidding?"

"Not at all; for the first time in more than two centuries, Hogwarts will host the Triwizard Tournament this year."

"God, and that's on top of the World Cup final in the last week of the holidays. Speaking of which, has Nadia talked to you yet?"

"No?" the ravenette replied, it being her turn to look confused.

"She was thinking of going, and was wondering if we'd feel like to come as well."

"As much as I enjoy racing about on a broom, I'm still not a fan of organised sports," she said in reply, "it's just not my sort of thing."

"Nor mine, but it's still a special occasion – none of the teams in the British Isles has reached the finals in a few years, and we haven't hosted it in longer."

"Yes, but it's almost a foregone conclusion that Ireland will win – anyone who understands statistics will see that they have the stronger overall team – and the only chance Bulgaria has is if they get an early snitch catch, which is how they got to the final in the first place."

"That rather takes the fun out of it."

"I never particularly saw the fun in attending 'spectator sports' anyway."

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' _I very much doubt this is anyone's idea of fun_ ,' Jasmine thought as she regarded the front page news the day after the Quidditch World Cup. The fact that Ireland had indeed won wasn't even on the front title, which was crowned with a picture of the Dark Mark glowing green in the sky. Apparently, a few of Lucius' old pals decided to have some fun with the muggles upon whose land the cup was held. ' _This is likely going to cause problems. Then again, I can probably make a profit running off of people's fear like when Black escaped – self-defence books shot up in price on that day._ '

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As she read the article, she became more and more glad she and Hermione had chosen not to attend, and thereby Nadia by extension.

"Mr Malfoy, please, have a seat," Jasmine gestured to the chair opposite her. To her expert eye, the man appeared slightly harried and stressed, which was unusual for the man. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"A matter of some importance has arisen," he answered with a scowl, "that leave me requiring certain…services." The ravenette leaned back in her green chair at that information. If he meant what she thought he did, why would he be needing such a thing? "I presume you are aware of the events at the Quidditch world cup yesterday?"

"I'll assume you mean your old friends and yourself having some fun after the match, and not Ireland's win," she replied.

"Yes, well…" he didn't deny it, she noted, "the Ministry managed to capture one of those in a mask, and intend to question him with veritaserum by the end of tomorrow, perhaps today depending on how much Bones can push for it."

"Ah," Jasmine echoed in understanding, "who is the unlucky fellow?"

"Gregory Goyle, Snr." he answered. "As much as it is a pain to do so, I must assure that he is suitably silenced before he can spill certain secrets, if you understand my meaning."

"Yes, yes, if they manage to question him certain things will come to light and Bones will destroy your old Imperius defence," Lucius bristled, but said nothing. "I can have him hang himself by the end of this afternoon, for a fee of course, although I'm surprised you're willing to do this to one of your house's oldest allies."

"Needs must, and he has a son to continue the line."

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"How's Snuffles doing?" Jasmine asked the man opposite her as they sat in an out-of-the-way booth in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Getting better; the books on occlumency have helped him a lot, I think, as he's certainly waking up fitfully less and less, and is generally sleeping longer," Remus replied, cradling his mug of coffee. "And he doesn't look quite so much like an emaciated skeleton anymore."

"That's good," she said, "he hopefully shouldn't have to wait much longer than a few more weeks – I'm making good inroads with Madame Longbottom, even if she is suspicious that I'm hiding something. It's just heading back to school which will make it more difficult."

"Well, you need your education."

"Education is what remains after one has forgotten everything learnt in school – Albert Einstein."

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After the hesitant clapping for the announced Professor Moody had died down, Dumbledore began speaking once again.

"Now this year, I'm afraid the Quidditch cup will not be running," various shocked gasps, and even boos were heard from the die-hard fans like Oliver Wood. "This is because," the hall quieted as the old man began to speak once more, "it has been decided, that for the first time in many years, Hogwarts will be playing host to the Triwizard Tournament." ' _More like the Ministry went over your head and ordered you to accept it_ ,' Jasmine added silently as the room was again filled with whispers. "To this end, we will be receiving delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang tomorrow afternoon. As such, lessons will start on Tuesday, not tomorrow. The competitor from each school will be selected next Monday evening."

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"A ship and a flying carriage; this is a pissing contest to see who can make the biggest entrance," Nadia said drily as the delegations from the two foreign schools walked across the Hogwarts lawns.

"Yes," Jasmine felt she should say more, but was drawn inexorably to a stunning blonde girl at the head of the procession from Beauxbatons next to their enormous headmistress. She blinked when thoughts invaded her head of the young woman would be like to kiss, and in equal measure how her hands would feel squeezing the life from her pretty little throat. It was quite jarring to have such contradictory thoughts without even having talked to the girl or knowing her name. When she looked up and saw many members of Hogwarts' male population staring at her, several with noticeable 'excitement' showing, she understood what must be happening. ' _Veela allure_ ,' she concluded. Apparently, as someone of her predilection, she was both prey and competition to the beast inside the blonde, hence her conflicting emotions.

Stocking up the barricades in her mind, and strengthening her control over her occlumency freed her from the feelings, but it was slightly annoying to have to concentrate upon what she now visualised as a slight pink-tinged mist attempting to seep into her mental Hogwarts. Her form of mental ordering was very good for defence against proper legilimency attacks, but less effective against this.

"Are you okay, Hermione?" the question from Nadia broke the other Gryffindor from a slight funk of staring at a certain someone's posterior – okay, now Jasmine wanted to wring the French beauty's neck of her own volition.

"Sorry, fine," Hermione stated with a brief smile. "I was just… never mind."

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"Don't you kind of wish you could enter?" the brunette proposed.

"God, no," the Ravenclaw answered, "they cancelled that competition because too many people _died_. It's not at all worth the meagre reward, and I have more than enough fame, thank-you."

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"My name, as many of you will know, is Alastor Moody. I was an Auror for decades, and now it's my job to teach you all how not to get killed," the man gave a disturbing grin, his eye in its leather holster still spinning wildly. "Put it away, Mr Finnegan, and as interesting as I'm sure Teen Witch Weekly is, Miss Brown, it has no place in my classroom." The two offenders looked stunned at the man's ability to see under their desks, and Jasmine gazed at his eye intently. The degree to which the thing must be enchanted was incredible if all she'd heard about the grizzled ex-Auror was true. "Now, you've all had a firm grounding in Dark Creatures last year, and an acceptable degree of simple offensive and defensive spells from Shacklebolt, but it's time you learnt to deal with the really nasty stuff. This is Defence Against the _Dark Arts_ after all. You need to see what you're up against." His grin was toothy and menacing, and more than a few looked at him weirdly. "Now, who can tell me about the Unforgivable curses?" A few hands were tentatively raised, though Jasmine kept hers down – where was he going with this? "You; Miss Granger." He already knew her name? Interesting.

"The Unforgivable curses are so named as their use on any other human being is… unforgivable. Each one earns a direct sentence in Azkaban," the Gryffindor answered.

"Very good, five points," Moody stated, "now, who can name me one, eh? Mr Weasley, how about you?" Said redhead looked petrified at being called upon by the man, but he gulped and gave an answer:

"Um, my dad did tell me about one; the Imperius curse," he replied hesitantly.

"Ah, yes, I'm sure that would have given your father some trouble," the man said cryptically as he walked over to a glass jar and withdrew a spider than he quickly enlarged with a charm. "Imperio," at the incantation, the arachnid staggered a little before straightening up to stand completely still. "The Imperius Curse makes the victim completely under the control of the caster; only strong occlumency – that's the art of guarding of your mind – or great force of will can stop it." With that he led the spider on a merry dance about the classroom, making people laugh when it landed on other people's heads, and being terrified when it hit their own. "Funny, is it? What should I have him do next? Drown himself?" The spider hovered over a glass jar filled with water, desperately scrabbling against the smooth walls for traction. "Or maybe fly out the window?" The spider flew across the room to smash pitifully against the glass panes, sliding down them weakly. "The Imperius curse is no laughing matter, boys and girls; it takes away your free will and makes you do whatever the caster pleases, no matter how horrible." His eyes swept over the room, glaring at them balefully. "Don't make the mistake of thinking it funny; it still carries a straight ticket to Azkaban prison. Now, who can name me another curse? How about you, Miss Longbottom?" The brunette glared at the grizzled man, not the smallest bit of levity in her expression just as there had been none in his previous demonstration.

"The Cruciatus Curse," she eventually stated in reply through gritted teeth.

"Excellent; the pain curse," he turned his wand and casted it on the unfortunate spider, and the class watched as it gave audible keens of pain. "The single most painful thing known to man; feels like liquid hot lava crawling up and down your spine." Nadia couldn't seem to take her eyes off the spider through some kind of morbid curiosity as much of the rest of the class averted their eyes to the scene.

"Stop it," growled Hermione in a lot tone of voice, though Moody plainly heard her.

"And finally, the Killing Curse. Avada Kedavra," the lime-green jet of light hit the spider squarely, and it slumped down lifelessly. "Causes instant death; can't be blocked, diverted or in any way stopped by anything less than a physical barrier for it to explode against. It is coalesced hate from the user's mind and few people can cast it who aren't Dark Witches or Wizards. There's only been one known survivor, and she's sitting in this room." Jasmine felt the stares on her as people turned around, and she gave a pained smile. ' _Thanks for that one, Moody_.' "In time for the next lesson, I will want six inches on Occlumency and guarding your mind from things like the Imperius Curse. Dismissed. Miss Longbottom, would you care to stay behind for a moment?"

"I don't feel that she would, Professor," Hermione answered, a hand around a shaking brunette's waist as she comforted the girl after being confronted with the spell that put her parents in permanent care.

"Hermione," the girl said warningly in return, straightening and pushing away any sign of weakness, "I'll be fine; you go on."

"Nadia…"

"Don't worry about me."

Acquiescing to the girl's wishes, Jasmine and Hermione were the last to leave the classroom, watching as the heavy door swung shut behind them.

"Why is it always _something_ with the defence teachers?" Hermione queried as she moved to wait for her friend.

"Par for the course – apparently the curse has been in place for years," Jasmine answered. "No-one has lasted longer than a year, and it's often due to strange reasons."

"I wonder what Moody's will be."

"At this point, nothing would surprise me."

###################################################################################

Jasmine clapped disinterestedly as Cedric Diggory walked up to the front of the Hall, getting his hand shaken by an ecstatic Ludo Bagman and a severe looking Bartemius Crouch. Her only interest in the tournament was if the current group petitioning the faculty to have Quidditch reinstated for the year succeeded, and thereby she would be obligated to play again.

However, her attention was drawn as the Goblet of Fire's blue flames turned crimson once more, and another piece of paper shot out of the stone basin.

The entire hall was silent as Dumbledore deftly caught the charred parchment.

"Jasmine Potter," the words he spoke softly carried across the space, and made said ravenette stiffen in her seat. ' _No…_ ' "Jasmine Potter!" he called again, more loudly as stares were directed right at her.

"What?" she exclaimed loudly.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: On to the meaty parts of book four. I must mention, part of this is borrowed from Nemesis13 I believe (not certain, been a while since I read certain things).**

 **Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING, property of respective owners etc.**

Chapter 13

 _The entire hall was silent as Dumbledore deftly caught the charred parchment._

" _Jasmine Potter," the words he spoke softly carried across the space, and made said ravenette stiffen in her seat. '_ No… _' "Jasmine Potter!" he called again, more loudly as stares were directed right at her._

" _What?" she exclaimed loudly._

#################################################################################

"No!" Jasmine yelled while pointing a finger up at the old goat fucker; _why_ did this have to bloody happen to her? "Hell, no! I refuse!"

"Miss Potter, would you come up here please," Dumbledore insisted in a lower tone of voice. The numerous adults upon the dais were staring at each other and him intermittently, and whispering. Maxime and Karkaroff did not look happy. Jasmine stood from her chair and levelled a glare at the man.

"I refuse to compete in a tournament I did not enter, nor am I of age to even be eligible, nor did I consent to be a part of this blood sport in any way!" she shouted across the hall.

"Miss Potter!" he bellowed in response, and Jasmine clenched her fist before angrily walking up to the far end.

"This does not in any way count as consent," she hissed at the man before exiting through the doorway the three prior champions had left by.

Said trio were found gathered around the fireplace. Diggory was looking slightly dumbstruck as he sat in a chair, Krum was looking moody as he leaned next to the wall, and Delacour was looking so kissable that Jasmine wanted to punch her. Giving a slight turn to her head, she boarded over the windows in her mental room, keeping out the bloody pink mist that was only adding to her current rage.

"Are you 'ere to collect us?" the Frenchwoman said in that irritatingly sensual voice.

"No, I'm here to be bloody annoyed," she responded acidly. Her anger quickly turned towards Dumbledore as he led a procession of various adults down the stairs.

"Jasmine, did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?" he demanded as he got very up close and personal.

"Of course I bloody didn't you old coot! Why the hell do you think I'm so pissed off?" she answered angrily.

"Miss Potter! You will show some respect or so help me…" McGonagall looked ready to burst.

"Respect is earned, not given," Jasmine stated coldly. "Now I'd like to know what the bloody hell is going on; just how was I entered and what does it mean?"

"I'm afraid, Miss Potter," the oily politician said as he held his black bowler in hand, "that you have no choice but to compete. The Goblet of Fire creates a binding magical contract to see the competition through to its completion."

"I didn't consent to being entered, so how is it possible for there to be a contract?" He wordlessly presented the charred piece of parchment that appeared to be ripped off of something with her name written across it.

"You signed this, I believe, and that was enough," he answered.

"This is incredible," Bagman spoke up from where he stood in his ludicrously undersized and worn Quidditch wear. "We will be hosting the first ever Tetrawizard tournament!"

"Non! This is outrageous," Maxime declared, "it is unfair representation that Hogwarts receives two champions."

"I agree," her Bulgarian counterpart stated, "we should re-pick the champions, so we have an extra champion as well."

"The Goblet of Fire has gone out; it will not be lit again until the next tournament," Crouch stated calmly, "each competitor has to compete or else lose their magic."

"What?" Jasmine exclaimed, "that's ridiculous! I mean, for fuck's sake, I'm not even of bloody age! This can't be legal." She ignored the glare from her teachers at her language.

"Well, since the Goblet's picked you, you are now," Bagman said cheerfully, and the ravenette stilled.

"What?" she said in a quiet voice.

"Well, as far as legality is concerned, since you are bound to a magical contract requiring you to be of age, you are legally of age," the ridiculous man seemed completely unaware of the huge proportions of what he was saying.

"Let me get this straight, if I stay under the contract of this tournament, I will be of age with all due rights and privileges?"

"That's right! Funny old thing, magic."

Several of the people there felt a slight chill run down their spines as the fury disappeared from the ravenette's expression, being replaced with a malicious grin of triumph.

#################################################################################

"Jasmine, are you alright?"

"Quite fine; after all, I haven't started the tasks _yet_ ," she answered the bushy-haired girl.

"But the tournament… the most likely reason for someone to enter you is to get you killed! You know what the mortality rates were like before it was cancelled."

"Yes, but whoever has got it out for me has made a very, _very_ big mistake," the ravenette looked her Gryffindor in the eyes. "Just you wait and see."

#################################################################################

The Wizengamot chamber was quite an impressive space; designed not unlike a concert hall with its huge domed roof, and with tiers of seating around a central circle on the floor below with only a thin exit. On those tiers heading up several levels were one hundred and ninety six individual seats, composed of a stone partition which housed a desk and three chairs – for the seat holder, their wife, and their heir most often – and with the symbol for the House that seat represented embossed on the front of the partition. Of course, either side of the main insignia were any inherited and cadet Houses under their power, which showed up as smaller crests. Several seats, for those under cadet or with extinct lines, were empty, mostly around the highest tier reserved for the Ancient and Noble Houses and the lowest area for the Houses.

With a fond smile, Jasmine remembered explaining the politics of the various houses' titles to Hermione the day before.

#################################################################################

" _The Ancient and Noble Families are those who are both more than eight centuries old – roughly – and to whom are accredited great deeds," Nadia stated as she held up a large book on her knee. "You see here; Potters, they've been around since 932 AD, Blacks, even older but certified as far back as 600 AD, Longbottom, 1043 AD, and so on."_

" _And these are the most powerful pureblood Houses," Hermione continued, looking down the List. "Bones, McKinnon, Ollivander, Rooke, Nott, Meadowes, oh wait, this says they're extinct."_

" _Yes, killed off by the Black family," Jasmine commented. "But they're not_ technically _the most powerful, that would be the Royal Houses. There are barely any of those, and I think the McCarthy family of Southern Ireland is the only surviving one. The only other example off the top of my head is the House of Pendragon, which is_ long _since extinct."_

" _Wait, the Irish are part of the Wizengamot?" Hermione asked with confusion._

" _Yes, there were no independence problems with magical Ireland, which is why we have a few Irish students here," Jasmine replied. "Now, the next tier is the Ancient Houses. Again, over eight centuries in age is convention, but that's it. All you need to do is survive that long." More familiar names were there as well; Parkinson, Crabbe, Macnair, Smith, MacLaggen and plenty of others who had children at Hogwarts._

" _There are quite a few of them," Hermione commented._

" _Well, it's a lot easier to become Ancient than Noble in a lot of ways," Nadia said, "which is the next category – the Noble Houses are those who have been around less than eight hundred years, but whose members have done something notable. Diggory, Greengrass, there's Dumbledore – his family got added after he defeated Grindelwald. Fudge is on there as well; it's pretty much guaranteed as a formality if you're made Minister."_

" _And the next is the 'Houses' which don't have anything before their name. To qualify as one of these, you need have been in Britain for 10 successive generations of purebloods, normally, and be sponsored by someone who is already on the Wizengamot," Jasmine continued. "There are a lot of those, more than a third of the Wizengamot I think. Any pureblood House below that is a Minor House and is not on the Wizengamot."_

" _Oh my God, there's the Malfoys," Hermione's hand was touched to their name on the list._

" _Yes, it's something of an old joke among the Noble Houses," Nadia commented, "they emigrated, read,_ fled _from France after some bad business, and lodged up here in the eighteenth century, and despite their economic power – the Malfoys have always been rather shrewd businessmen – they are only a House."_

" _But, Draco struts around like he owns the place, by this system he's not that far off the bottom of the pile," Hermione said with confusion._

" _Ah, you see, the whole blood purity thing emerges from those that_ really _value purity and think they should get more due to it. By normal convention, the child of two half-bloods, or a half-blood and a pureblood is a pureblood, but there are those who don't think of it as the same. There is a so-called 'Pureblood Register' which has the most pure lines that only breed with purebloods – which neither the Longbottoms or Potters are on because we've got the occasional muggleborn or the like in our ancestry," Jasmine continued. "A lot of those people from that list believe they are entitled to more power – despite not being Ancient or Noble Houses in most cases – due to the purity of their blood alone. These were the original members of the Knights of Walpurgis, along with a few people from Houses higher up the hierarchy who were third or second in line to Head of House, and felt they were owed more by society."_

" _Weren't the Knights of Walpurgis the basis for the Death Eaters?" Hermione stated._

" _That's right. A lot of the Houses that 'allegedly' stood with Voldemort are those same ones who believe they are owed more by being pure, or otherwise loathe those who are not."_

" _I thought they were just scared of muggle culture and muggleborn numbers rising."_

" _Well, that too, but this is also a contributing factor."_

#################################################################################

"I hereby call to order the 6th Wizengamot meeting of the year two-thousand and nine," Dumbledore declared from his podium, eyeing the presence of one Jasmine Potter in the public stands. She felt his gaze keenly, but didn't move from her relaxed stance in her elegant black dress that was suitably aristocratic and understated. He was likely wondering how on Earth she was outside of school without his permission or knowledge – though legally she would be able to as soon as this meeting was over. "Are there any outstanding topics before we may begin?"

"I have a declaration to make," announced Augusta Longbottom as she stood from her seat behind the Crest of her House, automatically moving into the space from which the sonorous enchantment to amplify her voice would function, as in every seat. "I would like to stand as sponsor for the Head of House Potter to receive her seat on the Wizengamot as is her right. Miss Jasmine Potter is the only claimant by right of blood." Jasmine took this as her cue, standing from her seat in the visitor's section, drawing attention to herself.

"I would object – the candidate is underage, and thereby not able to take her seat," Dumbledore replied.

"Incorrect," said one Madame Bones as she stood up from her own seat, "as far as the law and the Ministry of Magic is concerned, Miss Jasmine Potter is declared of age by the magical contract into which she is entered with the notable artefact the Goblet of Fire, the certification for which I have here from my own office. Furthermore I would second Madame Longbottom's proposal; there is no reason to keep this young woman from her seat." Jasmine grinned at Dumbledore's brief scowl, and felt happy that she had brought the head of the DMLE in on her plan to some extent.

#################################################################################

' _Dear Madame Bones,_

 _I would ask if you could please bring certification for my coming of Magical Majority with you to the Wizengamot Meeting this Sunday. I would further entreat upon you, and ask if you could supply one of the attending Aurors with a bottle of veritaserum – I will gladly pay for any expenses for acquisition – I have a matter of some importance that needs to see justice done, and that I am certain you will approve of, for which this is required._

 _Yours, sincerely._

 _Jasmine Potter, Head of House Potter.'_

#################################################################################

Bones had replied affirmatively, albeit while asking for what reason she had need for such things. She twisted the ring denoting her status as Head of House Potter – the only visible ring on that finger, since the other was covered with a glamour – while watching Dumbledore blatantly stand there trying to think up a reason to deny her her seat.

"Motion has been seconded," he relented, "all those in favour?" The vast majority of the room stood and raised their wands to display a white ball of light hovering on the end. "All those against," he added in a more tired voice. A tiny number of people from the dark sect – Nott, Parkinson, Bulstrode, but surprisingly not Malfoy – raised their wands with a red light, along with the Chief Warlock himself. "Motion is passed; Jasmine Potter is hereby appointed as the representative of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, the inherited Ancient House of Peverell, and the cadet House of Loxley." He didn't even need to read out the degree to which it passed – it was quite an obvious victory.

Jasmine walked down the short few steps to the main Wizengamot floor, before bowing to the room at large, as was tradition, before hiking slowly up to her seat on the top row, next to Augusta interestingly enough.

"Now, if there are no further interruptions, we may move on to the main subject for today," Dumbledore continued, shuffling a few papers around.

"Actually," declared Jasmine, "as is the right of any newly appointed Wizengamot member, I would like to bring a personal grievance before the room." She cleared her throat a little, noting the attention of the many adults in the chamber. "Thirteen years ago, my godfather, Sirius Orion Black – the heir at the time and now _Head_ of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black – was imprisoned in Azkaban." She definitely had the attention of the whole chamber now, especially Dumbledore and Malfoy. "I would like to bring before the court the issue that he never received a trial." Various mutters went throughout the room, and she waited for them to die down a moment before continuing. "I would clarify that for more than a decade, the Head of an Ancient and Noble family sat in the most torturous jail mankind has ever invented, without ever having been duly tried or indeed sentenced. This is a most grievous miscarriage of justice, if ever I have heard of one."

"Objection, in time of war there is allowance for those most assuredly guilty to be placed in Azkaban without trial," Dumbledore declared.

"The war with Voldemort to which I presume you are referring officially ended at 11am on the 1st of November 1996, by the word of the then Minister Millicent Bagnold, and unofficially on the 31st of October the same year. These are written in ' _A History of Magic'_ for every Hogwarts student to see and indeed know for their OWLs, Chief Warlock. Sirius Orion Black was arrested at 1am on the 2nd of November, fourteen hours after the war had officially ended," her reply was as swift as it was cutting, as it left that argument of Dumbledore's without a leg to stand on. "I would therefore motion that if Sirius Black can be presented before this court that he receive a fair trial, as is his due right by the laws of this nation!"

Numerous whispers spread through the hall.

"Sirius Black is a dangerous criminal," Fudge announced as he stood from his seat above Dumbledore's in the centre of tiered system, looking not particularly subtly at Malfoy as he did. "As such, a Kiss on Sight order has been given. This proposal is asking that our brave Aurors attempt to capture a dangerous killer, putting them at severe risk."

"Not at all, Minister," Jasmine replied, "I said presented, not caught. If Mr Black hands himself in, or by some lucky coincidence is captured by Auror or Citizen, then he should be tried before this august body. Are there any here who would deny a man his legal rights?" The portly man sat himself back down, sharing a matching worried expression with Dumbledore. "If there is nothing further to add, and no reason to throw the proposal out, a vote must be had."

"All those in favour?" Dumbledore declared tiredly from his seat, looking down at the quill in front of him scribbling across the page as it recorded the votes. Definitely not as many white lights as the previous vote, but then this was for trying a criminal. "All those against?" This time showed an occasion when plenty of Dark and Light voters agreed on the same issue, with Malfoy and Dumbledore leading the crowd. Once the wands were lowered, she eagerly anticipated the result and grinned as the Chief Warlock looked unhappy. "Motion passed, ninety five to seventy eight." Almost as soon as he said it, a man seemed to appear from nowhere in the visitor's stands, the flash of black and silver as fabric was shoved into his pocket barely noticeable as he stood and yelled, attracting the attention of the room.

"I, Sirius Orion Black, Head of House Black, do hereby accept the gracious offer of the House of Potter and do hereby consent to use of veritaserum to determine my innocence." That was as far as he got before his shouting was cut off by a red stunner from one of the attending Aurors. The noise from the Wizengamot members was astounding as a man who was definitely Sirius Black was tied up with a quick spell and dragged away.

"Order!" demanded Dumbledore, issuing a cannon blast sound from his wand, "Order!" He sent a quick glance over to Madame Bones who was standing up and staring as her men arrested the man they'd been after for more than a year. "Session is hereby adjourned and will resume in one hour's time due to extenuating circumstances."

Jasmine sat back in her seat with a satisfied smile; everything was going to plan.

"You know," stated Amelia Bones as she walked behind the Potter booth, "aiding and abetting a known criminal is a crime."

"Not if he's not a criminal, Madame Bones," she stated upon turning to look at the woman. "As we will soon determine, I believe Sirius Black may just be innocent. And besides, you don't have any evidence that could incriminate me anyway." She stood up, dusting a piece of imaginary lint from her dress. "Besides, Madame Bones, there is Justice and there is the Law. They are not always the same thing, and I believe in this case, the former is on my side, if perhaps not the latter. Did you bring the veritaserum?"

"I did," she replied, before frowning and walking quickly down the nearby steps past the throng of people to one of her Aurors.

"So this is what you really had planned," Augusta Longbottom said as Jasmine walked by her.

"Maybe, if perhaps it wouldn't incriminate myself to agree," she returned. "Forgive me for assuming, but I left you out of it since I believe your view towards the House of Black is not exactly favourable due to a certain notable member. I noticed you abstained in the vote."

"As you say, I have certain opinions of _that_ family," she replied through gritted teeth. "His cousin stole from me my son and his wife."

"My godfather is very little like the rest of his family, Madame Longbottom, to the degree that he ran away from them at age fifteen. It's lucky for him he was never formally disowned, or that vote may have gone differently." The woman pressed her lips together and moved away with the rest of the crowd shuffling down the steps, while Jasmine took a more leisurely pace taking up the rear as the last person to reach the ground floor where a certain goat-fucker was waiting.

"Would you care to explain why you are off school-grounds, young lady?" he stared at her over the top of his glasses.

"As per school regulations, a student may be away from Hogwarts when required to attend important Wizengamot sessions with their Head of House, or indeed _as_ their Head of House," she smiled innocently at him, "I am the Head of House Potter, after all." She flashed her recently acquired jewellery at him, displaying her House crest in gold. The main Potter vault was quite impressive, really, with a good number of antiques and such, as well as various possessions of her parents that had been placed there from Godric's Hollow after their deaths. However, her main reason for visiting it had been to claim this very thing. "As such, I was breaking no school rules by coming here." He looked ready to reply when he was interrupted by someone else.

"Miss Potter," stated the Auror as he walked up to the pair of them, "Madame Bones requests your presence; Mr Black is asking for you as his legal counsel."

"If you'll excuse me, Dumbledore," she said as she spun and followed the red-robed man, grateful to him for pulling her out of that annoying situation. Now she just needed to find out if she was jumping from the frying pan and into the fire.

#################################################################################

"Wizengamot proceedings are hereby resumed, and we are to begin with the trial of Sirius Orion Black," the Chief Warlock declared, not sounding particularly happy about it. "Auror Shacklebolt, would you please administer the veritaserum?"

Even from her position way up in the room, she could see the tall African man who had been her defence professor at one point tip a potion bottle into the mouth of the man casually sitting in a chair at the centre of the room as if he were not chained to it. Sirius had actually cleaned up rather well after being given time to recover from Azkaban, and she had seen to it that he received a proper shave and such before coming here. Every little helped, after all.

"Ready to begin, Chief Warlock," the Auror stated as he turned back to Dumbledore.

"Auror Shacklebolt would you please read the questions prepared by Mr Black's legal counsel," the old man asked. It was generally accepted in a trial when under veritaserum that the accused would only answer specific questions, so as not to be forced to reveal anything an enemy might force them to by simply shouting out the question.

"Are you Sirius Orion Black," Shacklebolt began.

"Yes," came the monotone reply, magnified for all to hear.

"Did you kill Peter Pettigrew?"

"No."

The various whispers and mutterings that filled the room at that statement were substantial.

"Did you deliberately cause the deaths of the muggles found near you when you were arrested on the 2nd of November, 1996?"

"No."

"Who did kill them?"

"Peter Pettigrew."

"How did this happen?"

"He cut off his finger and then fired an explosive curse at an exposed gas main at a work site before transforming to his animagus form." Shacklebolt waited for the noise to abate before continuing.

"Have you ever killed another human being?"

"Once; a Death Eater when I was on a raid with the Order of the Phoenix."

"Were you the Potter family's secret keeper to their Fidelius charm?"

"No."

"Who was the Potter's secret keeper?"

"Peter Pettigrew."

"Have you ever been a Death Eater?"

"No."

"There are no further questions, Chief Warlock," Shacklebolt put down the piece of parchment Jasmine had given him before administering the antidote to the veritaserum. She took that as her cue to stand.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Wizengamot," she stated as she swept in for the killing blow, "it is quite clear that Sirius Black has committed none of the crimes for which he has served penance in Azkaban Prison, and there is no evidence _whatsoever_ of any wrongdoing on his part as he has committed no crimes since then. I hereby move that he be cleared of any and all charges."

"Those for?" Dumbledore made a gesture of exhaustion as he gave in to the inevitable, watching the veritable mass of white lights. "Those against?" The meagre number of red lights was restricted solely to Malfoy and a few of his cronies, since he stood to lose the most with the Head of House Black being around to take his seats back. The blond ponce looked furious. "Motion passed; Sirius Black, you are hereby cleared of all charges." The chains binding him to the metal chair slithered off of the man, and he sprang up with joy on his face.

"I have a declaration to make," stated Jasmine as she prepared to set the coup d'état into its final move. "I would like to stand as sponsor for the Head of House Black to receive his seat on the Wizengamot as is his right. Sirius Black is the only claimant by right of blood."

Lucius Malfoy stood up, and appeared to be about to make a declaration of his own, but soon thought better of it and sat back down while silently fuming. The vote took even less time than her own, and Sirius Black was soon in his own little partition with the Black family crest.

"As is the right of any newly appointed Wizengamot member, I would hereby like to bring a personal grievance before the room," the man announced without sitting down. "I would like to sue the Ministry of Magic for gross incompetence. Unfortunately, that's not a crime, so I'm going to sue for my twelve years of wrongful imprisonment."

Jasmine wasn't sure if the wince Fudge gave was due to the hit on his pocketbook or on his reputation that this day had wrought.

#################################################################################

As Jasmine walked into Grimmauld place, she could already hear her two 'uncles' celebrating. Likely with fire-whiskey.

"Free, free as the wind blows," the out-of-tune singing from Sirius' mouth was swiftly followed by a loud belch just as she entered the living room. She raised her eyebrow at the slightly inebriated pair.

"Having fun, godfather mine?" she asked amusedly.

"There she is; the girl who cleared my name!" Sirius lurched forward and slung his arms around her. "I can never thank you enough, Jasmine." He was distracted from his thanking by a thump from behind her.

"Well, I'm sure it will even out with what I'm doing now. I let some people in on the Fidelius whom I thought you needed to see," she replied. Moving out of the way of the doorway, the three members of the Tonks family tentatively walked into the room. "I believe you'll probably remember Andromeda Tonks, though I'll assume you haven't met Edward and Nymphadora." The pink-haired woman scowled, and her locks turned an angry crimson at the mention of her name.

"Don't call me Nymphadora," she growled.

"We've met before," Sirius said with a smile, "although Nymphie here was just a bump in her mother's wedding dress as I gave her away." Andromeda's fierce features – which looked disturbingly like her insane sister Bellatrix's – flushed at the casual mention of the fact that her daughter was very close to being born out of wedlock.

"You were the only person from her side of the family at the wedding," her husband said with a shade of humour, seemingly unconcerned. "You were also the most drunk by the end of it, I think."

"Sounds like my dogfather, alright," the ravenette replied. "Anyway, I thought they should be here for the coming events."

"What do you mean by that?" Andromeda asked hesitantly.

"I'm bringing you back into the family," Sirius replied, grinning like a loon, "and disowning your sisters. And then we're going to bury all the stupid ideas our parents encouraged us to believe in and dance on their graves. Want to help?"

#################################################################################

"I have need of your services once again," Malfoy stated as he sat down heavily opposite her.

"I had a feeling this was coming," Jasmine replied, standing up to pour the man a drink from her globe. "Black, I presume?"

"Yes," the blond man spat acidly, "I need him dead."

"So you can regain your seats on the Wizengamot, and so your son can inherit the Black titles," she completed, placing a glass of fire-whiskey on the desk before the man. "I'm afraid it's too late for that."

"What?" he spluttered.

"It's too late; if we had been the ones who had caught him, we wouldn't be having this conversation." ' _Because you'd be asking for Jasmine Potter's head instead_.' "As it stands, they got to him first. I can tell you that killing him will not solve your problems, unfortunately. He's already named his goddaughter – Jasmine Potter – as his heir. According to the goblins, she already carries the heir's ring. Furthermore, papers have already been submitted to the ministry this morning disowning your wife and son from the House Black, along with Mrs Lestrange, while reinstating your other sister-in-law and her family." His face purpled at the news, and she spent a brief moment enjoying the expression on the man who normally got everything his way.

"I thought you're supposed to be able to deal with anything!" he growled.

"Can? Yes. Will? No," she answered blithely, "simply put, you're not getting anything back without killing off the girl-who-lived, which is something _he_ does not believe to be a wise thing to do."

"Why not? She's just a little brat who hasn't even finished Hogwarts, how much effort can it be to kill one girl?"

"A surprising amount – she has protected herself very well, to the degree we didn't know she had Black until they unveiled their plan, and we cannot touch her without compromising several people. Furthermore, it would draw a great deal of attention, attention we do not desire," she leaned back in her chair as she threw her hands up. "I'm afraid, Mr Malfoy, that as far as our organisation is concerned, she is not worth the trouble. You can attempt something of your own, however it would be ill-advised and you would receive no help from us." Malfoy stood from his seat, his hand clenched around his cane angrily as he prepared to stalk from the room. "A piece of advice from the professionals, Mr Malfoy; forget about this and move on, whatever you try will not succeed."

#################################################################################

The rapping upon the main door of the building was unexpected, and the leader of the small group approached it with caution, his wand drawn. He tentatively opened the wooden portal to reveal a woman in dark clothing with an umbrella lifted aloft from which the rain pattered off. Her face was unrecognisable apart from a pair of reflective green lenses, matching her tie. Behind her, another figure was just visible in the early evening light, though he was entirely obscured by a long, black cloak.

"Ah, Mr Crumby, I presume?" the woman said with a slightly upper-class accent, her teeth showing as she gave a shark-like grin.

"What's it to you?" he responded gruffly.

"I am here to make a business proposition of some importance – may we come in?"

The man looked them over once more the young woman didn't seem that much of a threat – although the smile was unnerving – and the other was likely her bodyguard. He had three men in the room behind him, plus himself, so he quickly calculated there being a possibility to kill them both easily and then rob the posh girl's corpse for any valuables.

"Be my guest," he finally said, moving out of the way and gesturing to the room beyond with a feral smile. Said room was something of a storage space, with wooden crates stacked up against the wall and his men dotted about. The woman seemingly paid the goons no attention, and settled herself imperiously down at the sole table in the centre of the room, leaning back without a care in the world.

"Let's make this brief, since I'm on a schedule," she began once settled, "my name is Adler, and I represent a group of some influence who have come to notice your little... business here. You've carved out quite the little niche for yourselves, and you have a loyal customer-base it would seem. That's the reason why I'm here and you're not simply being killed off so we can take your place; it would be a minor inconvenience to build that roster of customers and such back up, and so I am here to offer you two options." He could practically feel the eyes under those glasses boring into him as she spoke. "You can join up and keep your lives, as well as gain the benefits of working with us in exchange for some of your profits, or you can force my hand and we'll just have to replace you."

"Hah, you and whose army, girl?" he laughed, his chuckling echoed by a few others around the room who were fingering their wands.

"The one-man army you let in the door," she answered cryptically, pulling an elegant pocket watch from somewhere and looking at it with interest. "Speaking of which; moonrise in three… two…" Everyone barring her flinched as the silent man in the cloak gave a groan of pain, and there was an audible cracking of bones as his body _shifted_ in shape. Crumby pulled his wand up to send off a spell as the man began to let out canine groans, but was hit by a silent blasting curse from the woman before he could, slumping back against the wall and dropping his wand. "Wolfsbane is a marvellous potion, no?" Adler continued as if nothing had happened, and a fully-transformed werewolf wasn't brushing the ceiling behind her as it ripped the remains of its cloak away from its fur. "Tastes like goblin piss, or so I'm told, and has some side effects, but it lets a man keep his mind while transformed. Sanders, if you would." The lumbering beast obediently moved forward, its yellow eyes fixed on Crumby as it brushed aside one of his men before reaching him, grabbing him around the chest with a clawed hand and pushing him up the wall, his feet dangling down. "People like Sanders here are just the tip of the iceberg – our organisation can give you funding and supplies, more manpower, and just generally we can improve your little trade into a very profitable venture. All you have to do is agree." Crumby was more interested in looking into the feral yellow eyes of the beast holding him up like he weighed nothing. "Your answer? Or are you going to wait for Mr Sanders to lose his patience?" The slight growling from the wolf cemented the man's fear, as well of those around the room who were completely stumped as to what to do while their leader was being held like a ragdoll. The acrid stench of urine filled Crumby's nostrils, and he realised it was from his own breeches.

"I agree," he said hoarsely. He at least knew when he was beaten.

"Excellent," Adler replied as the wolf let him down to the floor, "let us flesh a few things out – and I wouldn't try any sudden moves, or there'll be a few new guests at the morgue."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: This chapter may end up encompassing all three tasks, depends how much between them I can come up with. I'm writing this a while after the other recent chapters – I've been busy with real life calamities and work – and I've rather lost steam. I should still be keeping to the update schedule, but I'm worried about the quality of my writing going down.**

 **Also, slight edit to the previous chapter - I accidentally put Dumbledore down as having _killed_ Grindelwald, which was a mistake. And on further notes raised by the guest reviewer Heika: I never said Jasmine or Hermione is exclusively homosexual and, yes, unlike Jasmine, I am not fluent in several languages, and that Italian phrase was ripped from Google Translate.**

 **Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING, property of respective owners etc.**

Chapter 14

"This is ridiculous, you can't ask me to stop looking," Hermione stated as she set down the heavy book onto the table already stacked with them. "You're being forced to compete in a tournament against people with three years of experience on you; otherwise you lose your magic. There has to be a loophole somewhere."

"Hermione," Jasmine began as she sat down opposite her in this out of the way spot in the library. "Edward Tonks said to me recently that Wizarding law was like a sex manual written by a blind and deaf nun, and then translated into Russian by an irate Frenchman. It is near impossible to understand, even for the professionals, and it doesn't always necessarily make sense. I very much doubt you will find a way around the magical contract."

"But it just isn't right! People shouldn't be able to be forced into a binding contract without consent," she protested vehemently.

"Shouldn't? You're quite right, however the world is not perfect and it is possible nonetheless," she answered drily. "You're also forgetting one important fact."

"What?"

"I don't want to get out of the contract."

"Is this about the bloody Wizengamot seats? You'll still have those in three years, and even then it's a bloody stupid system of governance," Hermione said dismissively.

"It's not just that. As my own Head of House and a legal adult, I can do a lot I wouldn't otherwise be capable of. For one thing, I'm legal to apparate and I've booked my test for the holidays, and I can use magic whenever and wherever I want. Not to mention the variety of legal and social protections it gives me from various things – I'd like to see the Prophet try to print an inaccurate story about me now, I can sue for slander and as Head of an Ancient and Noble House, people are going to sit up and listen."

"Still…"

"And," she continued, "I control my own life, which is quite important to me as I've been operating independently since I came to Hogwarts, but now it will be legally." ' _No more of the goat fucker trying and failing to control me._ '

"I'm just worried about you," Hermione relented finally, seemingly looking through her with those piercing blue eyes.

"Hermione, I've fought a basilisk before now," she consoled, reaching across to rub the girl's hand soothingly, "I'm not scared of whoever has conspired to enter me into this bloody thing. All they'll have done is given me even more fame when I eventually win it."

"Win?" the Gryffindor replied dubiously.

"Do you really think I'm going home with anything less than first place?" Jasmine asked with a raised eyebrow. "If I'm entered into this damn thing, you better believe I am going to come out on top."

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Jasmine was snapped from a reverie of imagining a certain blonde's body writhing on top of her by someone calling her name. She blinked, and saw Ollivander looking at her expectantly after having checked the French girl's wand. With a snap of her wrist, she handed over her Holly wand which he rolled about in his fingers.

"Ah, one of mine, I remember this wand well," the old man stated, "Holly, eleven inches, and with a Phoenix Feather core. Kept in good condition, I can see."

"Naturally," she replied as he returned the stick to her. She barely noticed as Diggory and Krum had their wands examined by the old wand-maker, paying more attention to keeping the Veela out of her mind and watching amusedly as the two reporters in the room shot annoyed looks at each other. The Diagon Gazette had quickly become the second biggest Wizarding publication in Britain, and although it was a major loss as far as profits went, it was far more useful in other respects as a source which people trusted – as opposed to the Prophet's lies – and could thereby be used to push whatever angle she desired.

"Right, let's get onto the interviews then," Rita stated – for of course it was she representing the Gazette – as the small ceremony finished. "Youngest first." Jasmine nodded, and quickly followed the woman to a small room off to the side that looked like a disused office even as the Prophet's representative glared at them.

"Hello again, Rita. How's life at the Gazette treating you?" she asked as she sat down opposite the infamous reporter.

"Wonderfully," the bleach-blonde answered, "between you and me, it's a much nicer place to work." The woman was of course aware that Jasmine had a stake in the paper under her real name, which was likely the reason for her slight deference. In reality, she owned sixty-five percent of it between both her personas. "But enough about me; the world wants to know about you, the Girl-Who-Lived, youngest Triwizard Champion ever."

"Against my will, I might add," the ravenette replied, "I was entered into this dangerous competition against people with years of experience on me _illegally_ by someone who did not have permission to act in my name."

"Do you have any idea who might have done it?"

"I'm afraid not, though our esteemed headmaster assures me he is working on it," her tone could not have been more sarcastic, and Rita grinned as her green quill scratched back and forth across its pad.

"And what are your thoughts on the competition itself? Do you think you stand a chance against your elder competitors?"

"I intend to win," she grinned as she leaned back in her chair, "they may perhaps have a greater knowledge of spells than I, but I have my own advantages."

"Oh, would you be able to share any of them?"

"Well, I say if you can't out-spell them, then out-think them. In a battle of intelligence, I believe I have the advantage."

"Creative thinking," the woman mused as she looked over what her quill was writing. "What do you think your parents would be thinking, were they here?"

"Well," she considered the odd question, "my father would probably be egging me on and placing some bets on me to win, while my mother would be entering me into a crash-course of training to help me survive if all that I've heard about her prowess is true. I like to think I follow in her footsteps."

"How so?"

"Well, she was a capable witch, who had a mastery in charms and was working on a potions mastery when the war broke out. I am personally aiming for a career in potions and spell-creation."

"Are those your strongest subjects then? And what you'll be using in the tournament?"

"Well, those and Defence are my strengths. And like I said, I'll be trying to use strategy to defeat my opponents."

"Very good, I think that will do. Is there anything else you'd like to add?"

"Only a message to whomever entered me in the first place; you've made a big mistake."

"Perfect, now let's see if Mr Krum is available," the woman took her quill and notepad as she stood.

"Interested in the Quidditch Star? Isn't he a little young for you?" she commented, making the other witch laugh.

As they re-entered the room, the man from the Prophet was just finishing up with Fleur it seemed. Upon seeing them, he immediately excused himself and made a bee-line for her.

"Sorry Mr Thwaites, I make it a point not to talk to publications that report inaccuracies, good day," she savoured the angry expression on his face as she walked away and out of the room. ' _Of course, the fact that my interview will be exclusive to the Gazette helps_.'

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' _The Ministry's security really is appalling,_ ' Jasmine mused as she looked over the numerous sheets of parchment in front of her. Her various sources within the Wizarding government had easily been able to get her information about the tournament from the mess of all the departments involved – from international cooperation to magical games and sports. _'I'm surprised that the Dragon conservationists allowed them use of nesting mother dragons_ and _their clutches of eggs_.' Four of the bloody things had been shipped over from a preserve in Romania; a Welsh Green, a Chinese Fireball, a Swedish Short-snout, and finally a Hungarian Horntail. Naturally, several books on dragons and how to deal with them sat upon her desk as she scanned the various notes and plans.

She cringed as she read over the riddle they were planning to give the competitors inside the eggs – it was not good poetry, and it also misled them into thinking that the person taken from them and sitting at the bottom of the lake would _die_ if not found in time. Drama was one thing, convincing the competitors their nearest and dearest's lives were at risk was another entirely.

Of course, she had her plans for the second task, already being ordered and custom built for her needs. She'd probably need to scout out the lake herself as well, in order to make a map of things and know the exact location of the Mermen village.

And then the Third Task, which practically invalidated the first two. It didn't matter what kind of points you gained in the previous tasks, all they gave you then was a time bonus – of only ten seconds per point! It made for a better spectacle if they all had a similar chance of winning, she supposed, but it would be nonetheless aggravating for those who had massively outperformed others to get only a two minute or so advantage in the Maze.

It did concern her slightly that Hagrid was mainly responsible for stocking the maze, after the organisers had found out how many dangerous creatures he could get his hands on. Acromantula, those hybrids of his which would otherwise be illegal, not to mention the Sphinx being shipped in from Egypt! And of course, Sprout was adding plenty of traps in as well in the form of plants which were just as dangerous. Naturally, they were less of a problem since she knew which breeds would be planted there, if not where exactly.

That was the one thing she couldn't get: a map of the maze. Dumbledore and Sprout would apparently be personally responsible for growing it, and on the Quidditch pitch that was going unused this year no-less. She hoped that they at least returned the grass to its former state once finished.

' _Still_ ,' she thought as she took a sip from a cup of tea on her desk, ' _I have all the information I need to plan appropriately. Time to out-think the enemy_.'

And so, she leant back in her chair, and began to plan her way through this tournament.

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The day of the First Task dawned bright and early, and Jasmine made sure to eat a balance breakfast to prepare for the day. Further down the Ravenclaw table, she noted Delacour looking concerned as she played with a plateful of scrambled egg – clearly not particularly hungry. Krum, too, looked sombre at the Slytherin table, not eating anything it seemed. Cedric appeared unconcerned, however, as he ate his Full English while amicably chatting with his housemates. She got the distinct feeling that he had been the perfect Hufflepuff – believing in fair play and all such rubbish – and wasn't aware of the challenge involving dragons.

He was in for a shock, that was for sure.

He was also a bit of a moron if he hadn't read up on the tournament rules – which had no sanctions whatsoever for cheating, and it was informally regarded as part of the competition. After all, those who prepared the most and did best were those who had cheated the best. As she stood to leave the table, she stilled as one of her housemates – Morag – placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Good luck out there," she said in a quiet voice.

"Luck runs out, and is for those who are unprepared and unskilled," she answered as she pulled away and stood up fully. "I intend to win."

"You're that confident about it?" Padma inquired with a speculative gaze.

"I'd better be sure – I have a thousand galleons riding on it," she replied with a smile, walking away to leave the small group stunned. After all, a thousand galleons was the same amount as the eventual prize money – and no small sum either – and she was hoping to use that bet to make competing in this worthwhile, since she had been lucky enough to get in the bet on the day after the competitors were announced. The company had thought that the lone fourth year in the running stood next to no chance and had offered odds of thirty-two to one. Those odds had dramatically changed when her interview in the Gazette went out, interestingly enough. They were also likely to change again after today.

' _Still_ ,' she thought amusedly, ' _it is quite likely to bankrupt them, they are only a small company after all, and we can step into the open space left in the market. It's surprising how little Wizards know about gambling_.' She was already working on rectifying that situation – with plans that should be coming to fruition very soon.

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"Remember," Bagman said to the assembled champions, "you may only bring your wand into the arena, as well as your wits. I can only now wish you good luck. Mister Diggory, you'll be going first on the sound of the cannon." The Hufflepuff looked terrified as he stared at his blue, Swedish dragon. Jasmine, however, merely scowled at her miniature Horntail as she moved to sit down by the tent walls.

She had been hoping to get the Welsh Green, or maybe the Short-snout, but no, she got the most aggressive breed of dragon there was. And it was also a nesting mother protecting her eggs to boot. Just peachy.

Still, her strategy should theoretically work, as the statue was just as described; it acted and sounded just like the real thing. Her brief test of the spell she had planned to use worked like a charm, and she made sure to keep her small success to herself as the other champions gradually left the tent.

The noise was disconcerting, since she couldn't see the arena, but could still hear the noise from the crowd. One-by-one the Champions left until just she remained in silence, tuning out the world as she tossed about a few schemes in her head.

' _Giants will be more difficult to get than trolls, and more difficult to keep safely, but they'll draw a much larger crowd_ ,' she thought.

Finally, the cannon let loose its last payload, and Jasmine was torn from her musings as she stepped beyond the tent flaps into the arena beyond.

Her eyes quickly scanned the place, marking up where she was in its circular space and triangulating where beyond the rocky outcroppings before her, the Horntail would be based. She also noted that the crowd were now silent – a charm up to stop them giving her hints most likely – and the complete lack of sound was odd, not least when she knew an oversized lizard was waiting for her up ahead.

Moving into the lee of the nearest vertical rock face – which was taller than she was; they hadn't skimped on making the terrain difficult – and set about her plan. The miniature dragon was pulled from her pocket, and enlarged to the size of a chicken with a temporary charm. She then froze the growling beast with a quick spell and with a steady hand tapped the end of her still-glowing wand to the zipper of her grey hoodie – which matched her monochrome camouflage trousers and sturdy black combat boots that had earned her a few odd looks from the other magic-raised champions and the organisers. The action was part of sixth year charms work that her mother had elaborated on in her journal – normally, spells were linked to the caster's wand and were cancelled from there, but it was possible to link them to an object instead, preferably metal as they held the spell best, giving her a few minutes until it wore off naturally. That done, she casted first a sonorous charm on the still dragon, and then proceeded to lay herself with a scent-eliminating charm, a disillusionment charm, and finally a silencing charm. Once the shivers from the strange sensation had left her form, she briefly looked down at her hand, watching as it configured itself to match the grey rock behind it. Perfect.

She wasn't perfectly invisible, but she was mostly undetectable, especially as when the magic shifted in places, she was already wearing grey. The silencing charm limited what she could do massively, until she cancelled it of course, but the stealth benefits were worth it. Moving slowly, and sticking to the very edge of the arena where there were rocky walls keeping her from viewing the inside of the circular space, she started forwards.

Even at the edge, it was tricky terrain to traverse, and Jasmine found herself climbing upwards bit by bit as she moved around, hauling herself up the uneven rock. Finally, she reached a point where she could look up and see the judges table – which was disconcerting as everyone stared silently into the arena, Bagman gesturing excitedly as he commentated. Deciding that she should be behind the dragon by now, she hauled herself over the closest ridge to head inwards.

And there it was.

The dragon was facing the other way, but was identical to the small toy she had been given, and to the illustrations in the books she had read. Long, and sinewy, as well as very muscled under bronze scales. As it shuffled around, she could see clearly the way its front limbs functioned as wings, but with a claw on the second joint to climb things and rest on all-fours. Of course, the bony horns it was known for sprouted like a mane around its head and continued down its back until its spiky tail whipped around impatiently. That was something to avoid; spikes nearly as big as her arm emerging from the club-like appendage.

Still, she was in a good position, and there was no time like the present.

With her eyes closed and pushing her will outward, she touched her wand to the zipper of her hoodie. Seconds after, growls and keens from the unfrozen model echoed around the space, immediately making the real dragon look intently over towards the entrance – directly opposite from where Jasmine was hiding. Just like she planned, the dragon edged forwards away from its precious nest, giving answering keens to what it would recognise as a horntail – and being a nesting mother, would immediately associate with children.

With the dragon's attention focused elsewhere, Jasmine dropped the silencing charm on herself, and edged forward a bit on the rocky scrabble. Looking nearby, she concentrated on finding a suitable base for her next move. She grinned upon seeing a loose boulder not far from her, and held her wand up in preparation while bracing herself against the rock closest to her. She said the spell as quietly as she could while firmly picturing what she desired in her mind.

She closed her eyes after the spell left her wand, taking a deep breath as a slight wave of lethargy swept over her after such a large transfiguration. But, when she looked back where the boulder had been, the result was exactly what she needed. Altering the matchstick-to-needle transfiguration every first-year learned had been difficult, but she and Hermione's mathematical and Arithmantic skills, as well as the Gryffindor's better transfiguration ability had eventually won through. Resting before her was a three metre long metal spike, growing thicker along its length. It was as brutal as it was simplistic as far as solutions went, but there was nothing wrong with simplicity. Keeping an eye on the dragon that hadn't heard her spell and was edging forward towards the perceived cry of its young, she quickly incanted another spell to lift the spike into the air and begin spinning it quickly.

Moving around until she was directly behind it, she eyed the Horntail carefully. She would get one shot at this, and one shot only, and she grimaced at delaying it, seeing the dragon still hovering over its eggs protectively, reluctant to leave them – the Champions had been warned about losing points if the eggs were destroyed. They never said anything about the dragon itself, though.

After a tense moment, her model Horntail suddenly crawled its way over a ridge and into sight, and the mother could take no more – crawling away from her nest at the sight of the small drake.

Seizing upon her chance, Jasmine eyed the shot up carefully and casted the strongest banisher that she could. Her projectile slammed forward like the bullet it was designed after and impacted heavily into the back of the dragon's neck – right where the spine met the skull amidst many protective horns. Jasmine gave a grin of triumph as the beast slumped and gave a keen of pain; she had been half scared upon picking the Horntail that the spikes would deflect its path away from the little weak-point at the nape of its neck where its scales were weaker to allow the flexibility of its head, but they would otherwise play in her favour as the skin there would be thin around the protrusions.

"Depulso!" she shouted as she ran forwards, further slamming the spike further forwards, "Depulso!" With a sickening crack and a spurt of crimson, the metal forced its way inside the dragon fully, audibly breaking bones in its neck and causing irreparable damage. Jasmine approached carefully, moving a little around to the side as the beast weakly moved its jaw – the one thing it still had nerve connections to – as its serpentine eyes spun frantically before stilling as the light faded from them. She waited several tense moments before nodding with satisfaction; she finally cancelled the charms obscuring herself, and walked over to the dragon. Placing a foot upon its flank, she held her wand to her throat with a quick sonorous, "as slayer of this dragon, I do hereby claim this corpse by rite of conquest for the Ancient and Noble House of Potter!" That said, she walked over to the golden egg sitting innocently in the nest and grabbed it up. Immediately, the roaring of the crowd impacted upon her like a punch to her ears, the cheering deafening as she looked up and around at the people. "Bread and Circuses," she muttered as she headed over towards her little dragon statue to shrink it back down – it would make a nice souvenir.

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Jasmine surveyed the other champions with interest as they stood before the judges to receive their scoring. Delacour was limping and being held up by another girl from their school – her right leg bandaged. Krum had received a little burn damage to his shoulder, but was standing on his own. Diggory was another matter entirely, as he was almost entirely supported by his father while being covered in bandages for what was likely heavy burning.

"Well, what an exciting day this had been," Bagman began from his place with the judges. "But it is now time to announce the scores. In fourth place is Cedric Diggory, who did not retrieve his egg and sustained heavy injuries, and has thereby received twelve points." Immediately hovering above the heads of the judges were the scores they gave in numbers made of golden light, a pair of ones from the foreign heads, two threes from the Ministry employees, and a four from Dumbledore. "In third place, is Fleur Delacour, who did retrieve her egg successfully, but was injured by the dragon she had charmed to sleep, and receives thirty points." This time boos were heard from the French stands as the scores were shown; an eight from Maxime, a seven from Dumbledore, while Bagman gave a six, Crouch a five and Karkaroff a three. The Veela herself was fuming silently at what was likely blatant racism from the purebloods due to her creature heritage. "In second place," Bagman continued as the noise died down, "is Jasmine Potter, who did collect her egg without injury, but was marked down for killing her dragon, receives thirty-eight points." Jasmine scowled as the given points were unveiled; an eight from Maxime, tens from Bagman and Crouch, and then Dumbledore gave a six while Karkaroff gave a four. She had every idea just who objected to her killing the lizard – as did the crowd as they made their displeasure known quite vocally – and Dumbledore had likely encouraged Karkaroff to give a lower score by setting the bar at six. It took a while for Bagman to quiet the crowd before Krum's score could be announced. "And finally, in first place we have Viktor Krum, who demonstrated use of the conjunctivitis curse with only minor injury, stands at forty points." The ravenette's scowl deepened as she looked at the scores. Karkaroff being a biased bastard of course immediately gave a ten, while Maxime proved to be relatively fair as she awarded another eight, coupled with another from Crouch, and a pair of sevens from Dumbledore and Bagman. "The next task will be held on February the eighth, and the clue you all need for the Second Task is contained within your golden eggs. You are allowed to use any method you like, and are limited only to what you can carry on you. Beyond that, good luck!"

Jasmine rolled her eyes at the overeager ex-beater who still insisted on wearing his worn Quidditch robes – he was really starting to grate upon her. Still, that was one task down, and she was only two points behind. It was no real bother, as she had the next task all sewn up.

She was musing when to begin mapping out the Black Lake while she hung back a bit from the other champions when she was grabbed and pulled into a small dark space, and then a hot mouth was on hers. Immediately, her eyes roved about, just noting the bushy hair as she relaxed into the kiss for a happy few moments. When they finally drew apart for air, she gave a smile to the flushed Gryffindor who had dragged her into what seemed to be a supply closet with a few flame-proof cloaks.

"Hello to you too," she stated with amusement.

"Sorry," Hermione replied as she pulled the ravenette closer, "that was just so nerve-wracking! I was so scared after the other three's performances, and then that damn Horntail…"

"Hermione, I'm fine, I'm still here, and I'm still alive," she moved a hand to caress the girl's cheek. "I told you; I'm going to win this tournament, and that requires surviving it."

"I'm allowed to worry about your safety, Jasmine," the girl replied, "this is a dangerous tournament; in a normal person's life, you would never see a dragon, let alone kill one single-handedly!"

"Mm, I'm a dragonslayer, perhaps I should be made a patron saint?" Hermione swatted her for that one.

"What was that thing about claiming the carcass?"

"Oh, well, dragons are not common creatures or easy to defeat ones. A corpse is worth a lot in potions ingredients, wand components, and protective clothing and such," she answered, "as I defeated it on my own, I'm the only claimant and the corpse is mine. It's one of many old laws based around conquest and defeating foes."

"So, you're going to sell it?"

"Well I'm certainly not stripping it down myself."

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"That was quite a performance you put on yesterday," Nadia stated dryly as she seemingly revaluated the ravenette. "I mean – killing a dragon on your own!"

"Proper prior planning prevents piss poor performance," Jasmine replied, "it's an old army saying."

"So is 'No plan survives contact with the enemy,'" Hermione commented with a smile.

"True, hence why I didn't engage the dragon head on, and I made it nice and simple," she countered.

"If you can't out-spell them, out-think them," Nadia quoted from a certain published interview. "What about the Second Task?"

"Don't worry about that – I've got that one in the bag," Jasmine assured the Gryffindor.

"You've already got the clue from the egg?"

"Safe be said, the organisers write poor poetry," the ravenette grimaced. "And that I'm a sure bet for first place."

"You said that last time," Hermione said with a slight smirk.

"Yes, well I would have been first if bloody Dumbledore wasn't such a Light-hearted fool and Karkaroff a biased bastard." It was testament to her effect on the two Gryffindors that they barely reacted to her insulting their esteemed Headmaster.

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The Winter Equinox – or the twenty-first of December – was the date chosen for the Yule Ball, and the castle was filled with excitement and expectation. Many had taken the special train back to Hogwarts that morning and would be leaving again the next day to resume their holidays. All through the school, the tenseness of the situation could be felt like the crisp feeling of the air before the clouds let loose a flurry of snow.

As Jasmine waited in a disused classroom, she considered all the idiocy and speculation of the previous weeks. Watching the various morons that made up the male population of the school try to convince significant others or even total strangers into accompanying them with sickeningly stupid acts of 'devotion' had grown quickly tiring.

Not least when they were used on herself!

Honestly, the sheer number of boys who she had never even spoken to that had approached her was phenomenal – and she was half-tempted to hex half of them as they acted like they were gifting her a huge boon by deigning to accompany her. Cormac MacLaggen had perhaps been worst; the boorish boy had taken four days and numerous attempts at courting her to get it into his thick skull that she would rather French-kiss a skunk than go with him, and then – _and then!_ – he had tried to go for Hermione. _Her_ Hermione.

He had suffered an accident a few hours later when he fell off a moving staircase onto the floor below, breaking both his legs. Tragic. It had taken all her will, in-fact, to not butcher each and every ignoramus who approached Hermione, marginally helped by the fact that she was fairly skilled in rebuking them. Their plans had been made up a long while before after all, and they each knew what they were doing.

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" _So you want to go to this ball then?" Hermione asked as Jasmine sat down beside her on the bushy haired girl's bed._

" _Not particularly, but it will be essentially expected of us – everyone from fourth year and up is invited and expected to attend, and I imagine people will notice our absence," she replied, "which leads on to how we're going to play this."_

" _What do you mean?" the other girl asked in confusion._

" _Well… homosexuality is generally frowned upon in Wizarding society," she affixed Hermione with a careful look, "generally among the upper echelons, its overlooked if a lover of either gender is taken in arranged marriages once an heir is produced – in-fact, it's almost expected that a man have a mistress in order to show off his wealth – but having a public relationship? Especially between two women? It's heavily disapproved of."_

" _Why especially women?" Hermione asked in confusion._

" _Because we live in a society that is more heavily weighted in men's favour – in some pureblood families, they have rules dictating the heir is the next_ male _in line and so on – and it shows them up by saying we don't need them for even the most basic of things like reproduction, whereas the reverse is not true."_

" _Reproduction?" the girl blushed while saying it, looking away for a moment._

" _Yes, er," actually, Jasmine herself felt slightly awkward talking about this, "there used to be covens of just witches living in the wilderness – still are in a few rare places on Earth – and magic exists to… procreate without needing a man."_

" _Right."_

" _Yes," Jasmine decided to move swiftly on, "and generally, women are looked down upon more as baby-makers and wives rather than anything else, of course depending on the family and political ideologies. The truly Ancient families have less of a problem with this, as do the more progressive recent ones, but the majority in-between come from more sexist times. So, a coupling between them is discouraged, and is of course also viewed as unnatural."_

" _Of course," Hermione frowned. It was only recently that that opinion had been held by muggles, after all._

" _And, it gets a little worse due to your… heritage."_

" _Because I'm a mudblood?" the Gryffindor scowled fiercely, anger simmering in her blue eyes._

" _Basically, yes; the public will likely see you as corrupting me or being a harlot or some such, especially as I'm member of two Ancient and Noble Houses and the bloody Girl-Who-Lived to boot. Tolerance is not something they're known for."_

" _Bunch of racist old bigots."_

" _Quite. However, like I said, it poses the question of what we're going to do about it as time goes on," Jasmine leaned back until she hit the white wall behind her, running over the options in her head. "Our relationship is something we have to handle carefully. We've got the option of keeping entirely secret from everyone for the rest of our lives or I can get married to some man as a show and have you as my mistress, or a combination of those two, or… we can take the Gryffindor approach."_

" _Meaning?" the Gryffindor girl said with a raised eyebrow as she shuffled by her headboard._

" _We act brazen – announce it to the whole world and damn the consequences," the ravenette smiled a little, "I have enough political clout to deal with the majority of problems, though I imagine my standing will suffer a great deal, and of course we'll have to suffer the slings and arrows of those who will hate us for it."_

" _You sound oddly in-favour of such a 'Gryffindor' plan," Hermione stated._

" _Yes, perhaps you're rubbing off on me," she replied, "the reason I'm not all for it and hang the consequences is… well, the consequences. You're the one who's going to be worst hit; I know you already deal with Slytherins due to your blood status, but this is going to be worse. We're also both going to have to deal with our housemates' objections, and likely they'll be against sharing a dormitory with us after they find out our 'proclivities.'" Hermione frowned and looked out of the window at that comment – Gryffindor definitely had its faults, and this issue would likely stir up some of the people. "We don't have to decide now, of course, the idea of marriage and everything else is a few years away – at least until I'm seventeen and I start getting flooded with marriage requests. What we do have to decide on is the Ball."_

" _And whether we go together," Hermione surmised._

" _Exactly. We have the choice of going alone, or 'as friends,' but it will be looked upon nearly as oddly as if we don't attend at all – which is also still an option, mind you. The other option is of course finding some boy to take each of us who will understand we're not interested in them."_

" _Or the Gryffindor option."_

" _Yes, or that."_

#########################################################################

Jasmine sent a worrying look out of the window at the rising moon – how long had she been waiting? Gods above, why was she this anxious? She was merely waiting upon her date.

With an absent hand, she smoothed down her immaculate dress of finest green. She was quite a sight in her dress – she had originally wanted to make an impact after all.

Her body was draped in long, viridian green fabric inset with swirls of slightly different shades reminiscent of the forest with each stitch of fabric. It was draped over her right shoulder leading down to her wrist, and golden Celtic stitched in swirls swept up the sides in a line to her arms and another band around her waist. A thin green band of similar fabric wrapped around her forehead underneath hair, with an emerald inset within a little gold. Her neck was further graced with the precious metal, as a golden torque made of entwined snakes ending in dragon heads on either side of her throat rested above her sternum, while a spaulder-like web of golden Celtic knots graced her left shoulder, intricately weaving across pale skin and matched by a design on her forearm leading into torcs on each wrist in an effect reminiscent of vambraces. For anyone who knew of or had seen her portrait – of which very few remained, having been mainly destroyed by Merlin – she was a dead ringer for Morgana Le Fay. The underlying threat was as subtle as it was bold as the ensemble mixed the elegance of a lady with the hint of war in what her delicate 'jewellery' was reminiscent of.

Finally the door to the room opened, and Jasmine spun to lay eyes upon her Arthur Pendragon. Hermione looked truly beautiful; her bushy hair was tamed flat and brushed onto her left shoulder, touching upon the top of her dress. Said dress emphasised the girl's growing form in a way that left the ravenette practically stunned; rich, royal scarlet fabric clothed her from wrist to shoulder with a few ruffles showing a hint of shiny gold, before hugging her upper body like a corset and then filling out past her hips in red ruffles that nearly touched the floor, and when jostled, showed the golden dragons seemingly running upwards weaved into the fabric and looking incredibly lifelike. And what was more, she knew that upon the girl's back once the strings were covered up was shown the golden dragon roaring its way up her back.

Of course, if anyone looked closely there would be those who would perhaps get the Morgana and Arthur association, which Hermione so far had not.

"Sorry I'm a bit late – Nadia was giving me some last minute help with my makeup," the girl apologised with a light blush.

"Well, whatever she did, it worked," Jasmine replied while taking in the subtle work on Hermione's face. "I feel quite plain in comparison." Not least with the way Hermione's dress emphasised her burgeoning 'assets' in a way she hadn't expected, and made her feel conscious of her more athletic form and her slimmer fitting dress. She was also glad that Hermione still had Nadia as a good friend – Hermione needed people like the pair of them to reel her back into reality upon occasion, like with her idea about taking every optional module last year.

#########################################################################

" _Well, this is the final part of your first within-the-rules Hogsmeade outing – butter-beer at the Three Broomsticks," Nadia declared as they tapped glasses and drank the strange drink that was so warmth-giving._

" _Tastes like melted butterscotch with a hint of ginger beer," Jasmine mused as she swirled her bottle, taking another sip. "It's nice, but I fail to see what everyone gets so enthused about." That was much her opinion of Hogsmeade in general, really. She had visited the town before, albeit briefly on business, and the only real locations she had much interest in were the local bookstore and Honeyduke's. Wizarding confectionary was quite something, and she would perhaps confess to occasionally enjoying some tooth-rotting wonders and chocolate delights._

" _Jasmine," Hermione began, breaking her from that train of thought, "do you have the, er, thing?"_

" _You want to do this now?" she queried with a raised eyebrow, indicating the full pub around them._

" _I think so."_

 _With a shrug, the ravenette pulled the small slate disk from a pocket and activated it before placing it in the centre of the round table._

" _What's that?" Nadia inquired curiously._

" _Runic matrix for a silencing ward," Jasmine replied._

" _There's something Jasmine and I need to tell you Nadia," Hermione stated._

" _Alright," the brunette replied, placing down her bottle and adopting a more serious expression._

" _I don't know quite how to say this. Over the summer," the other Gryffindor continued, "we've been getting… closer to each other. In a, er, romantic way."_

" _Oh, that," Nadia relaxed and took a swig from her bottle, "I was wondering when you would get around to telling me."_

" _What?" spluttered Hermione, "you knew?"_

" _Of course I did," she replied with a roll of eyes, "I'm your best friend, Hermione, and I'm not completely oblivious. I also do pay attention when you two are 'deducing' things, and occasionally learn something. I had my suspicions around the time after Jasmine was forced into the Tournament, and the way you acted at the first task clinched it. I've just been waiting for you to tell me."_

" _Well…" the bushy-haired girl appeared speechless._

" _So you don't have a problem with it, I'm guessing?" Jasmine asked._

" _Nope; you want to fall in love, be my guest, just spare me any details that I don't want to know about," the brunette replied, smirking as the pair blanched. "In all seriousness, go with whatever makes you happy. The Longbottom family is not one to denounce others based on what they are, rather than who they are. Although, I would advise you two to be careful around those who think otherwise."_

#########################################################################

"Speaking of her, where is she?" Jasmine inquired as she took Hermione's arm in her own gilded one.

"Last I saw she was heading to the hall with Simon Appleby," Hermione replied.

"Gryffindor, muggleborn, our year?" she asked in confirmation.

"That's the one."

The hallways were practically deserted – most everyone already seated in the Great Hall – but they did not hurry, instead taking a leisurely stroll to their destination. When finally they did, the door opened with a blast of chilly mid-winter air before they stepped within the space of the charms that heated the area and prevented the wind having effects.

With a slight smile, Jasmine pulled out one of the two chairs on the small circular table for her date, which Hermione seated herself in after a small blush. Settling down opposite her, the ravenette picked up and rang a small silver bell.

Immediately, a pair of house elves with black pillowcases monogrammed in gold thread with the name of the company Jasmine had hired them from appeared. One carried two plates containing their starters, while the other held a bottle from which he loudly pulled the cork before pouring a measure of orange liquid into their champagne glasses.

"Thank-you," Jasmine said to the pair as they finished, making them beam from ear-to-ear as they popped away.

"I still find them strange," Hermione stated, eyeing the empty space.

"We've had this discussion already – they're happy as they are, and to be otherwise would have bad effects," Jasmine said amusedly. That had been an interesting day when Hermione had discovered House Elves. A conversation with Nadia pertaining to some pertinent facts – such as that they survived on magic from their owners, and that most of them were perfectly happy as they were – were all that had stopped the girl going on an all-out crusade.

"Yes, yes, I know," she replied, "doesn't mean I can't find it odd, though."

"Let's just enjoy ourselves – after all, we have the pleasure of fine food, fine company, and a view to die for." Indeed, the sight of Hogwarts at night from the top of the tallest tower was quite something, and from their little table, all could be seen. From the Great Hall and the light spewing from it, to the small rose garden beside it that had been grown for the event. "We won't even miss out on the dancing," Jasmine added, pointing over at a record player resting in the corner."

"You did think of everything, I guess," Hermione replied, picking up her glass to take a sip. "What is this? This is alcohol."

"Bucks' Fizz. Basically champagne diluted with orange juice," the ravenette replied with a devious smile, "so yes, alcohol, but not much."

"That's breaking quite a few school rules."  
"Hang the rules, and the damn school. This night we can forget about all the bigoted bastards downstairs. This is for us."

"Jasmine, that's almost romantic."

"Almost?" the girl replied with mock incredulity, "I bring you to the tallest tower in Hogwarts, with a sumptuous three course meal and dancing to follow. What more must I do to be considered romantic?"

"I don't know; propose?" Jasmine's eyes boggled and nearly shot from her skull at the comment, wringing a laugh from her counterpart, "that was a joke, Jasmine. It's lovely, really. And I appreciate that you're blowing off the rest of the school for me." A hand reached across the small table to clasp her own in its warm embrace.

"A night with a bunch of morons staring at my scar and mentally undressing me while I pretend not to be dreaming up ways to kill them slowly, or a night with the most incredible woman in all the British Isles. It was a hard choice, let me tell you." The carefree laugh that wrung its way from Hermione's mouth made it all worthwhile – despite the effort involved, the wasted effect of their dresses and entrance, the heat from Dumbledore and the tournament organisers it would bring, it was worth it.

Just to see her smile.

"Don't worry about it," Hermione stated in a faux-soothing voice, "I'll keep the nasty fans away from you."

"Oh, and how will you do that?"

"Kick in the groin normally works."

It was Jasmine's turn to laugh as they whiled the night away in each other's company – heedless of those who were probably searching in vain for them in the castle. The small Fidelius cast on a little wardstone under the table amongst various other charms should keep them from interfering.

 **A/N: And calling it there. I changed the ending after originally writing it; I had them going to the Ball as a couple, and thereby kicking over an ants' nest, but I just didn't know how to write the subsequent events. I think I prefer this version – I can imagine them simply having a more quiet and secluded moment, with middle finger upraised to those who would protest. Anyway, long chapter; don't expect them all to be this big, I'm just trying to push through Hogwarts.**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Swiftly onwards. The thing about rooms at the start is a disagreement of mine with JK Rowling; sure in Year 9 (equivalent to first year) you might possibly have a dorm with four or five people, but all through school up to age eighteen? For the most part, full boarders will have their own room by Lower Sixth, although Flexi and Day Pupils often share in doubles as far as my experience goes, and so I'm sticking with that in here as a little nit-pick with the canon.**

 **Also, a certain light-hearted scene that somehow worked its way in here is heavily inspired by Silently Watches' Princess of the Blacks.**

 **And finally, a scene was missing from chapter 14 so I've sort-of worked it in here, though I'm not certain it fits. Thanks to FredFred** **for reminding me about it.**

 **Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING, property of respective owners etc.**

Chapter 15

Jasmine rose early, come morning, as she did on most days, despite having come back so late the night before that it was better regarded as morning when she began to sleep. Noting the still sleeping forms of Morag and Padma for a brief moment before shrugging on her uniform. She eyed the green dress folded over a coat hanger and hanging from her curtain rail with a smile before taking a moment to seal that and her golden jewellery inside her trunk where it would be safe before exiting the dorm room. It was easier not to worry about waking others up now that she had a smaller dorm – and she was looking forward to the possibility of a single room in fifth or sixth year, and a definite one in seventh.

The common room was deserted at this hour, and so she was undisturbed as she made her way down to the Great Hall. It was almost disappointing to see the space returned to normal after the previous night, where icicles had hung everywhere, snow had gently fallen, and the room was wreathed in glacial effects.

Her thoughts on the space were dropped to an even lower level by the approach of a scowling man with greasy hair approaching her as she sat down at the nigh-empty Ravenclaw table.

"Miss Potter," Snape began dourly, "would you care to explain your location last night?" His acid tone was one she had rarely had used on her since first year – they had a business-like relationship that didn't call for such vitriol.

"I fail to understand, Professor," she replied with an angelically innocent expression. She of course knew that he was one of the teachers Dumbledore had sent to round her up last night when she didn't appear for the ball – she had discreetly pulled out the Marauder's Map a few times during her and Hermione's little celebration – and that was likely the reason for his annoyance.

"You were required to attend the Ball last night," he hissed in reply, "I do not appreciate having to scurry across the castle searching for you."

"Oh, I think you'll find that the Yule Ball is an optional event, sir, which I chose not to attend," the ravenette stated simply, "there's no rule which says that the Champions must attend, it's just convention for them to do so." He looked like he'd swallowed one of the Goat Fucker's beloved lemon drops at her reply.

"The Headmaster would like to see you in his office following breakfast," he growled out before sweeping away with his ever billowing robes. Like many students before her, Jasmine wondered what charms the man used to make them do so to suit his dramatic flair. That was of course before she scowled at the prospect of meeting with the Headmaster; she was quite happy staying far away from the old interfering coot, thank-you very much. Still, needs must and her mood did brighten somewhat upon seeing Hermione seat herself over at the Gryffindor table and send a small smile her way. Life did have its upsides.

Said upsides were further increased as that morning's Diagon Gazette was mailed to her – containing speculation on the front page about whether the second task of the Triwizard Tournament would be scored more fairly than the first. The paper had been contributing to that angle since the first task; Jasmine felt it might make it easier for the small addendum to the current scoring system that would be to her advantage which she was having a Ministry flunky propose.

####################################################################

"Ah, Jasmine, please take a seat," the old bastard stated as he stood by his Phoenix, petting the bird. The ravenette merely scowled at him, not sitting down either.

"As I have mentioned several times before, _Professor_ , we are not on a first name basis. Unless you would like me to begin calling you Albus?" He turned stern, disapproving eyes on her, but she didn't react in the slightest. She did have to forcibly still herself as the damn fiery chicken gave a slight trill that drummed upon her ears slightly painfully; the only outward sign she gave was a slight tightening of her knuckles. Bloody bastard and his bloody bird.

"Forgive me; one occasionally makes mistakes when you reach my age," he eventually replied as he sat down behind his desk. ' _You finally said something true, you senile old codger_.' "Please, sit," he gestured at the seat opposite him.

"I'd prefer to stand, thank-you," she answered shortly, making him frown briefly. "I don't believe this will take long."

"Well, in short, I am heavily disappointed in how you are treating the Triwizard Tournament," Dumbledore moved into his grandfather persona, leaning back with steepled fingers and innocently twinkling eyes. "I understand that you did not wish to be entered, but your actions still represent the school-."

"No," she said firmly, interrupting him in mid-speech.

"Excuse me, Miss Potter?" he inquired.

"No, you apparently do not understand," she answered him with a scowl, "I was entered against my will and it is my intention to survive it by any means necessary. That does not preclude hamstringing myself due to your idea of ethics, nor attending an _optional_ event celebrating the fact I was press-ganged into a highly dangerous tournament, which I would presume is why I was called up here."

"Miss Potter, you must understand that you not showing up last night was quite an embarrassment to the school…" he replied genially, ignoring her dig at him scoring her down in the First Task.

"As I have already stated; I don't care about the school and its reputation, or about your embarrassment at needing to explain that you couldn't find your precious Girl-Who-Lived to force her to perform like some trained monkey!" She walked forward to press her hands down on his desk and loom over the surprised old man with malice in her eyes. "I will attend the absolute minimum required of me by this tournament without forfeiting my magic, and nothing more. Do I make myself quite clear?"

"Jas-Miss Potter," he just caught himself as her sharp emerald eyes narrowed, "as the headmaster of this school, I do have the authority to-."

"Order me around?" she interrupted, "treat me like the little pet of yours that everyone thinks I am? No, headmaster, what you have is a responsibility to my wellbeing while I am within these walls – and you are not living up to said. Just look at my last few years here; a troll, and of course Voldemort himself walking these halls, a basilisk petrifying people, Dementors nearly sucking out multiple students' very _souls_." She grinned maliciously. "I'm sure the public would love to hear the details of all of that."

"I do not appreciate threats, Miss Potter," Dumbledore growled out.

"Oh, I have not even begun to threaten you, _Albus Dumbledore_ ," the name was spat out like a curse, "that was a warning – I am not your puppet, I will not dance to your tune, and I do not appreciate your attempts to put strings on me." She spun around without waiting for any reply he might give and made for the door.

"Your behaviour like this is what has been concerning me, Jasmine."

"Oh, save it for someone who cares," she replied dismissively while opening the far door, turning only once to shoot a glare at him, "good-day, _Albus_." His expression upon her calling him by his first name was like he had swallowed a particularly sour sweet, and she savoured it for a moment before leaving.

####################################################################

A fairly complex unlocking charm flew from Jasmine's wand as she pushed open the door into a disused classroom in one of the towers. Honestly, the school used up so little of the castle; it was a wonder that they bothered maintaining it.

Still, it fit her needs adequately, she mused while looking around the room she had staked out to prepare for the Tournament in. However, she hadn't entered the room since the day before the First Task, since she had no need of it really as far as the Second Task went. All the preparation for that was work which didn't require a training space.

Closing the door behind her, she walked in past the old mirror she had scrounged up, and the pile of misshapen iron posts towards the board hung up on the wall with numerous sheets of parchment on it. With swift movements, the yellowed paper was unpinned and placed into a neat stack on the table beneath – each one having a spell as the title, before detailing how to cast each one and a large tick being present next to the title. That is, of course, until she reached the last one. Jasmine couldn't help but frown as she regarded the page describing the disillusionment charm, and the horizontal bar in the top right. It was a complex spell, of course, and one normally taught and used by Aurors rather than Fourth Years, but in her experience anything she put her mind to for long enough eventually seceded to her. And yes, she had managed to cast it functionally for the most part after all the practice she put into her spell repertoire needed as part of her plan for the First Task – including ones she hadn't needed in the end – but it had still flickered occasionally, and wasn't effective while looking straight at her; hence her grey clothing for the day of the task to decrease the effects of the charm failing in places.

Jasmine did not like failing. Not one bit.

With a sigh, the charm was pinned back up. Despite the fact she didn't need it, especially with her invisibility cloak, she wouldn't let that beat her.

The piece of parchment was swiftly joined by the variety of others denoting spells for different approaches to the Third Task.

' _It's annoying how many contingencies I need for this_ ,' Jasmine couldn't help but think as she pinned the papers up, ' _if they'd just list with the Ministry how they're making that damn maze, and protecting it, I'd be able to plan appropriately_ , _and it would give me more time to deal with the Second Task. Perhaps I should bring Hermione in? Yes, that might be a good idea, she could certainly help with the runic arrays, and I can claim I gained my information form that Egg. It would also prepare her for being a 'hostage_.''

Plan settled she regarded the wall of paper with a frown.

"In the mean-time, I have a lot to be getting on with," she muttered. "Need to remember to find that book Hermione gave me and work out the right recipe…"

####################################################################

"Bread and circuses," Jasmine muttered as she looked down upon the shouting and jeering crowd beyond the window.

It had been surprisingly easy to have this place built, and she understood why the Goblins built downwards since magic made physics look the other way on a lot of obvious problems. Hence, the underground arena was supported by a few pillars into the ceiling of rough-hewn stone, above which was London.

The large circle in the very centre was filled with sand like the gladiatorial pits of old, and then built up around it were stone layers of seats and standing space into which several dozen men were now fitted. There was above them, several 'boxes' that amounted to more private rooms to watch the barbaric entertainment carved into the rock and with a one-way glass screen. It allowed for men who couldn't afford to be seen in the crowds below to recline in comfort while watching the spectacle. The ravenette, of course, was sitting in the owner's box, watching bemusedly as a man with a wand tried to fight off a fully transformed werewolf before being slammed back against the stone arena walls and being leapt at. He was mauled for a good few seconds before red sparks were emitted from one of the organisers' wands, and the wolf backed off to allow them to pull the thoroughly beaten man from the pit.

He was one of several – probably inebriated – men who had attempted to claim the prize for beating a transformed werewolf under wolfsbane in the ring. None had succeeded of course.

' _Still_ ,' Jasmine mused as a mountain troll was brought from the huge doors at the edge of the arena to face the wolf. ''The Pit' _is proving quite popular. And we haven't even brought out the main event yet_.' The giant waiting in the wings had been a pain to get ahold of, but soon enough it would be facing off against no less than three mountain trolls, which were reasonably common in the British Isles. ' _And it's good exercise and stress relief for Greyback and his men_.'

It also brought more thoughts on gambling to the fore – Wizards had not been introduced to anything more complex than this; betting on fights or sports. Well, for the moment anyway. A certain disused yard belonging to the train station by Diagon Alley had recently been bought, and then seemingly disappeared from muggle memory. In reality, construction was proceeding apace – and she was quickly becoming popular with some building firms with the amount of work she was giving them of late. At present time, she was searching for someone to head up the operation – much as she did with every arm of her business empire. The Pit, for example, was under the control of one of Fenrir's men, who could easily handle any problems that might arise. Heading up Wizarding Britain's first casino? That would require a slightly different set of skills.

####################################################################

"And finally, take my hand and apparate us both to the red hoop," commanded the man, who swiftly made several notes on his clipboard once she had done so. "Very good, Miss Potter. I have no hesitation in awarding you your licence – expect our owl tomorrow lunchtime at the latest."

"Much appreciated," she nodded to him before walking over to the doors. This had been a long time coming. Relying on the Knight Bus and then later portkeys had been a pain as well as a drain on her magic. Apparition should make everything _much_ easier.

####################################################################

The incredibly obese teenager sitting on the foldout bench from the wall seemed inordinately interested in the opposite, blank wall. Likely due to his drug induced state. He didn't even notice the silent opening and closing of the cell door.

"Dudley, Dudley, Dudley," the light whispers carried into his ear made him perk up and look around bewilderedly; he was apparently not completely out of touch with reality. His eyes widened comically as Jasmine whipped off her cloak to unveil herself, clad in her Irene Adler garb minus her normal glasses. "Getting yourself arrested on Christmas day? You shouldn't have."

"W-what, how – who are you? How'd you get in?" he stumbled over trying to find words, pointing a chubby finger at her.

"You would forget me already, cousin of mine? I'm wounded," her faux offended tone was entirely offset by her malicious grin as recognition dawned in the boy's eyes. "What, you didn't think I'd come back? That I'd find you and finish the job I started?" She raised her ebony wand at him, enjoying the terror in his eyes.

"What'chu mean? What job?" he was trying to crawl away from her, back against the grey walls of the holding cell.

"Taking my due in blood, of course. First your pig of a father – such a tragic accident; drowning whilst trying to crawl out of a window he couldn't fit through." The blood drained from the boy's face, and she savoured every paler shade he went through. "And then your bitch mother. I forced her to drink poisoned tea, still perfectly aware of what she was doing," Jasmine chuckled darkly, "I think she died just as the blaze started reaching her precious kitchen, watching her beloved home burn to the ground as her life faded. And now, it's just you left." The fat pig's eyes grew fixated upon her wand. "I waited of course," she continued, drawing out the moment, "you've had plenty of time to acclimatise, feel the loss of your parents. I was going to wait until my birthday for this, but then I find a little notification that you've got yourself in the nick on Christmas day. How could I resist?"

"Bitch!" he growled, changing to leap at her in desperation rather than cowering. A quick flick of her wand, and he was floating in mid-air, unable to move.

"There's nothing you can do to stop this, Dudders," she crooned, laying a finger under his chin. "You're years too late. You made your bed." A further incantation and the fabric of the cot was ripped out of its lining and torn to strips, which tied together into a rope, and slowly a recognisable noose. "It's time for you to lie in it, or I suppose, hang from it." The liquid gathering in his eyes made him look even more pig-like than he already did as the noose was slipped around his flabby neck. With a simple wand motion, he moved backwards through the air until he was by the bars of the cell door, and the rope was tying itself to the top, adjusting minutely to be just what she wanted. "Years of pain, Dudley; here's your investment back, with interest." She cancelled the spell on him, and gravity took hold. He fell back against the bars, and his feet just brushed against the floor while his meaty hands flew to the sudden pressure on his neck. "No, no, none of that, Dudders," a quick spell stuck his hands to his sides. "Now," she watched as he vainly struggled around, trying to use his legs to gain some purchase. "Did you know, that if you make the rope on a noose a hairsbreadth too long, that you will keep touching the ground? Makes a bit of a botched job for those who do this to themselves, and it means you'll take roughly three hours to finally die. Interesting, isn't it?" His bulging eyes denoted that it was anything but. "Oh, and you don't have to worry about being interrupted; there's barely a skeleton crew of police on service today – it is the holidays after all - and they're currently experiencing a technical problem with their surveillance cameras, oh, and I put a notice-me-not charm on the doorway that won't wear off for six hours at least. You get to die in privacy, knowing it's your own fault, and that you have no hope of surviving whatsoever."

He made several choking noises in reply.

"Now, now, don't waste your breath, you're going to need it," with a smile, she stowed her wand. "This is goodbye, dear cousin; we shall not meet again, in this life anyhow. I'm certain we are both headed for a fiery inferno – be sure to give Lucifer, or Hela or whomever my regards." With her parting piece said, she apparated away, with another wonderful memory to power her Patronus' with.

####################################################################

' _The secret to perfect planning is to prepare ahead of time. And cheating of course_ ,' Jasmine mused as she stood on the frozen water of the Black Lake around her, her wand raised to shed light across the moonlit waters that rippled beyond the edge of her freezing spell's influence. According to her revealing charms, the Merpeople village was directly below her. Almost casually, she withdrew a ring of rune-covered silver metal from her pocket, encapsulating a small shard of blue crystal. With a simple throw, she let it fall into the murky waters of the lake, quickly disappearing from sight.

Her task complete, she turned back towards the distant lights of Hogwarts – already considering the path to take to get back to her dorm undetected by the night patrols. Having what was quite possibly Death's own cloak – if legends and the runes translated from the garment were to be believed – was quite a useful tool for such excursions.

####################################################################

"This has very interesting properties," Jasmine was pulled from reading her potions notebook by the familiar voice, and she smiled before turning on the windowsill to see her beloved bookworm holding one of the larger shards of blue crystal the ravenette had given her for Christmas. "Where did you get it?"

"It's Peruvian," Jasmine answered, closing up her book. "You said you were interested in studying foci in runic matrixes, I decided to get you a few to experiment with."

"Thank-you, Jasmine, it's very interesting to see how it channels magic," the girl answered, seating herself opposite the ravenette.

"Likewise, your gift was also appreciated; it's proving very informative." The book on spell crafting was highly intriguing so far that Jasmine had read it, containing practical advice as well as reasoning behind various effects. "How were your holidays?"

"Good; it's nice to see my parents again. How did Christmas supper with Sirius go?" Jasmine chuckled at the question, reminiscing of the latter half of Christmas day.

"Well, I have learned that my cousin Nymphadora entirely shifts gender at times during sex, and her mother cannot hold her drink and enjoys sea shanties, while her husband prefers off-key renditions of Queen. Sirius somehow managed to burn the turkey, and yet have it be undercooked on the inside, while his roast potatoes looked like roast chestnuts, and lighting his Christmas pudding nearly burned the house down. And then Dora managed to upend the entire table of 'food' over herself. In revenge for him laughing, she convinced Sirius that all Veela are hermaphrodites and are the ' _dominant'_ one in a relationship, apparently ruining a great deal of his fantasies. Remus decided to try and bring some muggle drinks rather than Wizarding ones, and ended up getting Everclear – which he then drank half a whiskey tumbler of in one shot. I learned that the reason my mother resisted my father for so long was because she had an on-off relationship with a Ravenclaw girl in fifth year, and that my father was possibly responsible for a few generations of deer in the Forbidden Forest. I also found out Sirius spent his eighteenth birthday dressed as a woman, and cannot remember the night but woke up next to another man in the morning. Oh, and Kreacher tried to kill Ted with a breadknife," Jasmine remained entirely deadpan as she spoke, enjoying watching Hermione's jaw drop open.

"I agree with what you said in first year; you are a very good liar. I almost believe you," she eventually stated.

"You're right, I do tell a lie," the ravenette relented, "it wasn't a breadknife, it was the carving knife left over from cutting the mutilated turkey." A single raised eyebrow was the only reply the Gryffindor gave. "I believe that maybe a renaming is in order; perhaps the 'Most Ancient and Deviant House of Black.'" Finally, Hermione cracked up, and Jasmine joined her in a carefree laugh. Perhaps she had _embellished_ a little, but it was probably a good thing she didn't mention certain real events, like the tips Nymphadora had given her– while drunk – about how to 'please' a partner, both male and female.

####################################################################

The day of the Second Task drew the school from within the safe and warm halls of Hogwarts out into the freezing mid-January wind and cold, to stands on stilts in the Black Lake that had been erected overnight. Of course, two Hogwarts students were missing, as well as a family visitor, and a significant other of one of the champions.

Said champions were each dressed very differently from the others. The French girl had the attention of half the population of the school in her tight, silver one-piece swimming costume, presumably of muggle origin if its synthetic nature was anything to go by. The younger of the two Hogwarts champions was staring stoically forward and thinking of her significant other on the lakebed while trying to protect her mindscape from the Veela woman.

The other Hogwarts champion was not quite so able to keep his eyes off of her, even if his chivalrous side forced him to look away occasionally. He was garbed in loose fitting fabric of drawstring shorts and a black and yellow shirt, the latter to probably hide the wide network of dense scar tissue running up his side, and visible peeking out on his neck and left leg. Dragon-fire was a very destructive thing, and like dark magic, extremely difficult to heal. The boy would most likely carry the scars for the rest of his life.

The Durmstrang champion seemed unaffected by the allure of the Veela, staring out ever-moodily over the dark, expansive waters. His garb was slightly stranger; only what looked to be burgundy leather shorts, showing off his muscular torso that seemed to be attracting the eye of a great deal of the female population.

Jasmine of course was also receiving looks, but of an odd kind. Then again, she probably looked quite strange to them. Her blue and black wetsuit clung to her athletic form tightly, but was nothing special. Her forearms and forelegs did have what looked like silver armour pieces attached, however, with a hole threading through lengthways, but with the one on her left wrist instead functioning as a holster for her wand. On her right forearm, however, was what looked like a compass attached to the top side. Furthermore, what looked like a black sled was slung over her back, made of carbon fibre, and underneath that was a pair of slim silver oxygen tanks - each enchanted to hold roughly three hours of oxygen. There was nothing wrong with redundancy in plans, after all. A tube led from one of the tanks to a full-face mask resting around her neck. Finally, resting on each hip was a pistol in a holster – each loaded with twelve flechettes designed specifically for underwater use. Spells had a habit of acting strangely underwater, and she didn't want to have to rely on her wand if it proved faulty; and again, redundancy was underrated.

Inclining her head upwards a bit, she watched the far left of four huge 'screens' floating in the air that displayed the champions standing on the pier, each co-ordinated to a necklace they had been told to wear.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of waiting, Bagman once more stepped to the fore – still stubbornly wearing worn Quidditch gear he didn't even fit into.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," he announced, enhanced by a sonorous charm. "Welcome to the second task of the Triwizard Tournament!" He frowned slightly upon barely receiving any half-hearted applause; likely due to the weather and dragging these people out into it. Jasmine herself had layered her wetsuit with warming charms so she wouldn't catch hypothermia or the like. "This morning, from each of the champions, something of great importance was stolen and has been hidden at the bottom of the lake. It is up to them to retrieve them within the one hour time limit. In the interest of fairness after the last task," he sent a glance the way of some of his fellow judges, notably Karkaroff, "they shall not be judged individually, but shall receive one point for every minute they arrive back under that time, and will receive none if they come back empty-handed or beyond an hour." The man raised his wand to the fore. "On my mark, your time will begin. Three... Two… One… Go!" He emitted a cannon blast from his wand, upon which three of the champions dived into the murky waters below.

Jasmine, instead, calmly pulled the sled-like shape from her back and set it upon the decking, folding out a long metal rod with handlebars attached from the top-side. With her contraption unfolded, only then did she jump into the lake, pushing the small carbon-fibre hull underneath herself to land with a splash, standing atop it with barely a wobble.

It was slightly disconcerting to be atop the small floating patch, but Jasmine had faith in her stability and buoyancy charms keeping her up. Once certain she wasn't about to capsize, the ravenette set both hands upon the handlebars, and twisted the right one clockwise. Immediately, the small craft jolted, and water began spraying out of the back as it leapt forwards. Jasmine kept her feet firmly planted in special place on the sled, even as the runic matrix she had now connected up was pulling water from in front of her, and pushing it through specially designed channels inside the base to accelerate her forwards.

In essence, it was a compact magical jet ski, and she and Hermione had put some extensive work in on it in order to make sure it functioned perfectly.

####################################################################

" _Here's the proposed array," Hermione stated as she rolled out a large piece of parchment onto one of the tables in the disused classroom._

" _Efficient looking," the ravenette murmured in reply, parsing a hand across the neatly inked characters._

" _Well, it's relatively easy to do in Futhark actually – since it was widely used in ships by the Norse who brought it over to Britain in the first place," the bushy-haired Gryffindor stated. "Also, see how much better it is this time round after cluing me in properly as to what you're going to do?"_

" _Of course, and I suppose the fact that it's all in aid of rescuing you is quite the incentive to outperform yourself," Jasmine commented with a smile._

" _Urgh, don't say it like that; it makes me feel even more like a damsel in distress," the girl wrinkled her nose in annoyance._

" _Well, at least you won't be able to sit there worrying during the task like last time after they give you whatever potion they're planning on."_

" _Potion? I'd have thought they'd use a bubblehead charm or the like."_

" _As much as I like Charms, I find that they have a slight tendency to malfunction if something changes that's outside its normal operating function, whereas potions have few things that will cause them problems excepting other potions."_

" _I think you're just biased as a potioneer," Hermione said with amusement._

" _That is entirely untrue…"_

####################################################################

With a slight twist of her arm, Jasmine took a look at the compass mounted there. Leaning out to the side, she turned in direction slightly to follow the needle, upon which was mounted a small piece of blue crystal, from the same original formation as the one she had dropped into the lake during the holidays. The crystal at the bottom of the lake was enchanted specifically to reform itself with that silver ring, and so it was trying to drag the missing piece towards it. All Jasmine had to do was follow her compass, and then head down.

Fairly quickly, the needle on the compass reversed direction, and Jasmine immediately twisted the handlebar to disrupt the runic array, carefully watching the needle as it pointed back where she had come from. Twisting her arm downwards, the needle followed until it was nearly vertical, indicating she was above the Merpeople village.

Calmly, she pulled her mask up to fit over her face, tapping the illumination runes set into tubes on the side that gave out light – a simple array that they'd learned early the previous year – and surrounded the glowing ball by mirrors that angled the light forwards. With finality, she pulled the final piece from the hull of her sled; a button that had been sellotaped to the side.

Drawing her wand and pressing the tip to the button, Jasmine gave a quick incantation. Almost immediately, she was barely holding on to a large lead weight that was tipping her over. Rather than resisting, she let herself fall, moving to dive into the water as the weight pulled her down – keeping her wand drawn with her right hand, while holding on with her left as she sunk very quickly.

Even through the warming charms on her wetsuit, Jasmine could feel the chill touch of the lake as the darkness rose up to greet her.

"Bloody hell this is deep," she muttered after a few seconds, staring downwards in vain, twin beams of light from her head showing nothing but dancing particulates. Knowing in theory how far down the lakebed was located wasn't quite the same as descending to that depth herself.

Finally, after what seemed like hours to her hyperactive mind, but in reality was probably about a minute, the village of the Merpeople came into sight. All around, the small creatures swum about with harsh, animalistic faces, small frames, and octopus-like lower bodies. Guardedly, the ravenette watched them, eyeing the area she was descending towards where four notably human bodies were suspended in the water, apparently sleeping and attached to ropes tethering them to the rocks below. They were guarded by Mermen hefting sharp looking tridents.

As Jasmine descended to be level with the end of the group – nearby a black haired European woman of perhaps eighteen years that she didn't recognise – the guards didn't move to stop her. Warily, she let go of her transfigured weight and levelled her wand at the captives.

"Diffindo!" she practically yelled, putting all the power she could behind the spell. It wavered slightly, and grew outwards as it went further, but the cutter neatly sliced through all four captive's ropes – from the young woman, to a small blonde that bore more than a passing resemblance to Fleur, past Cho Chang, and finally to a familiar Gryffindor. At this, the guards did move slightly, bobbing around a bit, but she didn't wait to see what they would do. With a second wand flick, she incanted a rope into existence, but scowled as it merely flopped lifelessly in the water. With a second attempt, it quickly wrapped itself around first her waist, then those of the captives.

Finally, it seemed, the guards moved to act – likely under orders to prevent the champions taking more than one hostage. The half-dozen of them levelled tridents at her and began swimming frantically towards her, immediately finding themselves facing down the barrel of a pistol drawn in her off hand.

The recoil was dampened by the water as Jasmine fired her first shot at the nearest Merman, a flechette burying itself in his stomach and blood floating around in wisps from him. The second closest dodged her next shot, but got caught in the arm by the one after that. The third, too, moved out of the way, but it was too late for them. "Alveo!" Jasmine declared, her wand tip pressed to the vambrace on her off hand.

Immediately, it and the three other pieces of metal she was wearing mimicked the jet ski she had used earlier, pulling torrents of water from in front and above her to send it gushing backwards, propelling her upwards as she aimed her arms heavenward.

The jolt upon the rope tied about her waist signified her success in dragging the other four with her, and Jasmine willed the runic arrays she had spent hours designing to move faster.

A quick glance down showed the mermen starting pursuit, but a few flechettes from the pistol still clasped in her off-hand discouraged them from following any longer. As Jasmine turned her head back upwards, she was blinded by the plumes of rushing bubbles form her right vambrace – she hadn't thought of that in the design stage – and she could also feel the pull on the wand still grasped in her right hand as the suction attempted to rip it form her grip.

Still, it performed the job required admirably, and she was rushing through the water at quite a pace considering they were dragging the mass of five people.

When finally the water began to lighten, the ravenette couldn't help but grin at the thought of the crowd's faces watching this, especially the organisers who were likely despairing that she had ruined the contest – which was precisely the point of what she'd done. How could the other Champions be given points when they failed to retrieve their hostages?

Finally, she broke onto the surface, and struggled to tap her wand to her left vambrace and end the array's work from keeping her splashing about, before removing her face mask and breathing fresh air once more. It was only when she did that she became aware that much of the splashing was not from herself, but the four captives who had seemingly been revived upon contact with air.

"Merde," chattered the small blonde as she rubbed herself, clearly frozen from the lake waters.

"Bloody hell that's cold," Hermione added, turning blue eyes on Jasmine hopefully. "Would you mind casting a warming charm?" Four quick spells later, and the four visibly relaxed.

"Now, ladies," Jasmine announced as she swam over to her sled that was still floating nearby and hauling herself up onto it – thankful for the charms keeping it upright. "If you would please hold on to the rope carefully, this may be a bit of a bumpy ride."

This time, she twisted her handlebar the other way, letting it click into a the array with one altered rune, which made the craft move a lot slower, and didn't dump huge volumes of water in her passengers' faces. It didn't take long to reach the stands, and the procession was marked by a mix of cheering and booing from various sources in the crowd, and the judges appeared to be deliberating amongst themselves furiously, several looking none-too-pleased.

Still, the ravenette climbed up onto the stand, while helping pull up the four others attached to her rope. As she did, she couldn't help but notice the black cricket-style scoreboard with white lettering and smile. ' _No.4 Jasmine Potter 17 mins 34 seconds_ ,' it was stuck on. Not a bad showing, if she did say so herself.

"Eighteen minutes," Hermione commented to her as she untied the rope about her waist while taking the towel one of the organisers gave her gratefully. "Seems the jet-ski worked pretty well."

"Definitely, and you were right about adding a second, slower setting," Jasmine replied as she ran her own towel through her sodden hair. "You know, I thought they'd let you lot change out of your clothes before going into the lake rather than dumping you in in your school uniform."

"So did I; I was going to go get changed, but they stunned me as soon as I agreed to participate," the Gryffindor answered in an annoyed tone. "Still, that's a Galleon you owe me."

"Oh bother," the ravenette frowned, "I really thought they'd use a variant of the Draught of the Living Death or something rather than a spell."

"Er, Miss Potter," the pair turned to see Ludo Bagman shuffling awkwardly on the spot, "you do realise you were only supposed to retrieve _your_ captive, not all of them."

"Oh?" she said in carefully calculated surprise, "it was never made particularly clear if that is so – the clue said to recover what they took, and you yourself said retrieve ' _them'_ at the start of the event, which is oft used as a plural term."

"Yes, well…" he trailed off, before turning around and heading back towards the other judges while muttering.

"It was a little unfair of you," Hermione whispered to her after he was out of hearing distance. "Now the other champions don't stand a chance."

"All's fair in love and war," Jasmine murmured in return, "besides, I didn't _break_ any rules, I just inventively interpreted them." ' _And possibly pushed the idea through the Ministry via one of my bought men that the Second Task should be judged more '_ fairly' _after the previous one, not to mention the campaign in the Gazette_.'

"How did you not end up in Slytherin again?"

"Because I'm far too clever to be that obvious."

####################################################################

"Settle down, settle down," Bagman said over the noise of the crowd, and Jasmine fixed her eyes upon him – completely ignoring the dirty looks the other three champions occasionally sent her way. Despite the fact that only Krum and, surprisingly, Diggory had made it to the village, she had made sure all three received nil points. "The judges have reached a decision, after much deliberation, and I'm afraid we must abide by the tournament rules that were set out before the task began or the entire tournament becomes invalid." There were numerous boos from the crowd, mainly from the foreign and Hufflepuff contingents. Bagman was correct, however; once the Task had begun with the agreed upon rules, the Goblet of Fire's contract would enforce those rules and they could not be changed without consequences. "Therefore, we must award forty-two points to Jasmine Potter, while the other champions shall remain on their current scores." He had to physically duck to avoid something someone in the crowd threw at him. "The final Task shall take place on the twenty-fourth of June," he added quickly before scurrying away from the stand.

She could feel the glares from the rankled champions boring into her back, and smiled slightly at her triumph over them. Brains always won out in the end.

 **A/N: And that's chapter fifteen over and done with – these last two have taken weeks as I've been enormously busy with work, and have been facing calamities due to cowboy builders that have only just been fixed. I'll hopefully have a chapter out for next Monday as usual, but I might not be able to – I really am phenomenally snowed under with my workload, and I'm just hoping I'll have time to get some writing done as I no longer have the buffer of two finished chapters waiting to be uploaded that I had for weeks before chapter 13. If I can't make the deadline, I may be uploading my short and unfinished works/ideas file to my profile in the next chapter's place to tide you over with the collections of things that remain unfinished in my fanfiction folder or are generally not worth posting in another format. Apologies if this is so, but there is nothing I can really do about it I'm afraid. I'd prefer not to place this on hiatus, and I will do my absolute best to keep it going.**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Pushing on.**

 **I think there are also some plot-threads that are going to disappear past this point. They seemed a good idea back last year when I wrote the first chapter, but getting into later ones I just think they'd be out of tone. Hopefully you won't notice them disappear except for seeing some unresolved parts from earlier in the story, such as Jasmine discovering she is related to Slytherin which I actually think I might work in if I can tweak the original idea a lot, but it's not going to be the same as my original one. The rest though… I have a bad habit of introducing stuff and promptly forgetting about it; sorry about that. Probably because I don't have much more than an outline for what's going to happen in the story and I generally write on the fly.**

 **Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING, property of respective owners etc.**

Chapter 16

Jasmine couldn't help but smile as a group of beleaguered-looking owls swept down across the Ravenclaw table to dump a long and lumpy package in front of her.

"What's that?" inquired a fifth year sitting down not far from her, Gavin Cooper she believed his name was.

"That is the spoils of war," she answered simply, grabbing up the brown-paper wrapped item as the birds flew away and hauling it over her shoulder before making for the doors. She needed to bring this up to her rooms to properly unpack it. She knew precisely what it was – after all, the company had warned her that her order was nearly complete – and it was just in time for the coming Hogsmeade weekend, too.

###########################################################################

"Bloody hell, you look like a cowboy," was Hermione's initial response when she saw Jasmine's clothing that Saturday.

"Are you saying I look like a boy?" the ravenette responded with a raised eyebrow beneath her brown leather akubra.

"No, but, wow," the bushy-haired girl stated. "Where did you get all this from?" she asked, gesturing at her form.

"The company I sold the dragon to; I made this part of the negotiations, and it's why I dealt with an Australian company," she answered.

In Jasmine's own opinion, she looked like she meant business. Starting from her head, she had her akubra, made from the tanned underside of the dragon belly most likely, and with a band wrapped around the base and a mainly flat, wide brim. Then came her long, duster-style coat. This was more obviously made from the dragon, as it was mottled between bronze and brown with the depressed and brushed out scales dropping to halfway down her calves and swaying out to the side when she walked. Finally, her feet were clad in hardy brown leather boots laced up on the front halfway up her foreleg and with a chunky rubber base for traversing muddy terrain, likely also made from the underside. Her denim jeans and black button-up shirt with the top two buttons undone did admittedly leave the combination in all looking a bit cowboy-like, but it did the job of advertising her as a dragon-slayer – and thereby to leave her alone.

It wasn't armour, sadly, but a large number of charms wouldn't make it through – as dragon-hide was notoriously resistant to them – and some minor hexes were affected too. Not to mention, of course, that it was fire-resistant.

"I like the hat," Nadia commented, having stayed mostly silent as she looked her up and down.

"It's a silly hat," Hermione said firmly.

"Don't diss the hat," Jasmine replied with a mock-frown, "the hat is cool."

"No it isn't."

"It is."

"It definitely isn't."

"Is this the degree of argument you two genii can have with each other?" Nadia commented in amusement, "simple contradiction? Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

The twin scowls on their faces only made the brunette laugh harder.

###########################################################################

"Are the wards fully configured?" the ravenette inquired as she stepped through a large entryway, feeling the enveloping shiver of magic over the space.

"Yes, Miss Adler," Mr Pewtey confirmed, following behind her. He was a thin chap, with brushed-over brown hair and glasses. The muggleborn had been an accountant for several years until the computer age had made his job largely redundant and had struggled to find a new one in the economic crises of late; hence, he was indebted to the group giving him control over Magical Britain's first casino. "Magic is dampened within the space, as well as any use of it setting off alarms and showing red sparks near the user, and of course we have breath tests at the entrance for potion residue. The posted guards should do the rest."

"Excellent," she replied, regarding the large room of roulette wheels and card-game tables with a trained eye. "And has the bar been properly stocked?"

"Er, I'm not sure," the man frowned, "I'll check and make sure it's ready for the opening night."

"See that you do, and that the vouchers for a free drink are given out," Jasmine responded, before turning to walk back into the elegantly dark-panelled main-hallway.

The building served several functions; there was obviously the large area on the ground floor dedicated to games of chance of varying types, as well as a bar ready to supply drinks; also on the ground floor was another room which contained a long counter manned by several bookies, and with the bets and probabilities they were offering for Quidditch games and such cycling magically on blackboards behind them; from the receptionist's desk, rooms could be booked upstairs in what amounted to the hotel section; and finally a large hall encompassing a portion of the second and third floor was available to be rented out for events.

From the outside, the building was ostentatious with its marble pillars and Greco-Roman styling that was surprisingly not uncommon amongst the Pureblood elite.

All that was needed for opening night was the strong notice-me-not variant of warding keeping the resident of Diagon noticing the section of buildings that had disappeared, creating essentially a wall of magic facing the Alley but leaving the back end open for the construction crews needed to build the casino.

With a spin, Jasmine surveyed the entrance hall once more, noting with care the large boards with gold filigree writing explaining how to play the casino games and banning anyone under eighteen from the floor.

They had to be clear on what happened and how it worked, as when inevitably someone complained or tried to start something – perhaps involving the DMLE – they could state with honesty that the rules were in plain sight.

This would hopefully be one of her biggest money-makers in Britain and, oddly, it would be entirely legitimate. After all, why would she need cheat or be illegitimate when the house always won already?

###########################################################################

"So this is your plan for the Third Task," Hermione stated as she surveyed the board of parchment.

"Several plans for separate contingencies," Jasmine replied, "you can see what my favoured one is on the left, and growing less preferable as you move right."

"It eases my mind to see you're just as prepared as the last two, but I still can't help but worry," the bushy-haired girl bit her bottom lip as while sending a sideways glance at the ravenette. "The whole idea of putting you in the Tournament to kill you; the Third Task is its logical conclusion, and where they'll make whatever move they were planning."

"I know; another reason for all my contingencies," the Ravenclaw agreed. "I'm still having trouble working out who exactly wanted me put in." A hand fingered the notebook on the desk below her planning-board.

"May I?" Hermione gestured towards the book, and Jasmine obligingly handed it over. Opening it up, the Gryffindor raised an eyebrow. "Dumbledore on page one, you really don't trust him, do you?"

"Ignoring his questionable hiring preferences and his attempts at controlling my life, just first year on its own would be enough to make me consider him; I've begun to suspect that the Stone wasn't just a trap for Voldemort but for me as well," Jasmine replied, "he's a manipulative old coot who buys into his own legend. However, I don't think this one was him – it puts him in a bad situation politically by upsetting the balance of this international co-operation act in his school's favour."

"Karkaroff, I'll agree with you there," Hermione said upon turning over a few pages to the next bio.

"He willingly took the Dark Mark, regardless of later actions to save him from Azkaban. He's also been sneaking around and arguing with Snape."

"Yes…" the girl trailed off as her finger slid down the page, dating odd occurrences in his movement, "this is quite comprehensive; have you been following him?"

"I haven't the time for that; I simply have my ways." Which involved a certain magical map of the school and some modified dictaquills.

"Moody?"

"There's always something with the defence teacher," Jasmine replied wryly. "So far, we've had a man possessed by Voldemort, a paedophile, a werewolf, and now a certifiable nutjob."

"He's not that bad."

"I'm not saying he's not knowledgeable; it's his teaching methods and the way he acts. Not to mention that he actually persuaded the Headmaster to allow him to use an _Unforgiveable_ on students."

"Yes, though in fairness, it was interesting to see how the Imperius worked, and feel its grasp. Not to mention being able to get rid of it."

"You threw it off even quicker than I did," Jasmine commented, thinking back to the strange sensation.

###########################################################################

" _Imperio," Moody incanted, and all of a sudden, everything was fuzzy._

 _A ringing persisted in her ears, while all other sound was muffled, and Jasmine couldn't help but blink as the world seemed to shift around her. Within her mind, dense white fog had rolled throughout Hogwarts, and she was choking on it as she tried to breath._

'It's clogging…stopping me thinking, _' flashed through her brain in the place as she pushed herself to stand, attempting to assert her willpower and forcing the fog to recede by about a metre around her. She couldn't see the walls, where was she? Everything was foggy._

"Jump On The Table _." The command rattled through the space, clanging inside her head and through her still open eyes in the real world she could now see a wooden table, clear as day. And there was a need to jump on it, her limbs wanted to push her over._

'No _,' she thought, pushing back as the fog reached for her again. '_ This is my head, my mind! I am in Hogwarts' Entrance Hall; the House banners are over there, the point totals are below the crest in glass tubes filled with gems, the height of the room is… _' She continued, concentrating for all the second that passed in real time, forcing her visualisation of Hogwarts to coalesce and reform. With each perfectly detailed brick that appeared, the fog receded._

"Jump On The Table! _" The barked order was ignored as she looked around her mind, smirking at the last vestiges of wispy mist at her ankles before moving her awareness form the imaginary space to the real world, turning back to the man with a wand pointed at her._

" _No," she enunciated clearly, a slight smile tugging at her lips as she stared the grizzled ex-Auror down. He blinked at her, before smiling toothily._

" _Well done, Miss Potter, very impressive mental willpower," he congratulated, "do you study Occlumency?"_

" _Not exactly; I just have an organised mind," she replied._

" _10 Points to Ravenclaw," Moody stated firmly, "now, who's next?"_

###########################################################################

"Yes, well I was just concentrating very hard on something before he cast the curse; makes it easier to throw off," Hermione replied, flicking over the pages. "He's been patrolling alone at night?"

"Most nights; I can't see when, if ever, he gets some sleep," Jasmine said while moving around to eye the notebook from behind the Gryffindor.

"Bagman and Crouch," the bushy-haired girl said as she turned the next few pages over, "and that's it?"

"It would need to be an adult to cast that powerful a Confundus charm on the Goblet, and get past the age line. A few of the Seventh years could have done it, but I don't have time to investigate all of them," the ravenette stated, "and both Bagman and Crouch strike me as odd. Bagman I know has been avoiding some Goblins as well as the Weasley Twins about debt collection from gambling he's done." The Twins were none-too-pleased about the man stealing a not exactly small portion of their savings, and Jasmine was slightly annoyed at wasting money that should be going towards them developing products and bringing her some dividends. "Not to mention being a weird character, and he's also personally wished me luck on both the previous tasks and I believe he has placed a bet on me winning. Probably one big enough to pay off his debts. The thing is, I don't know if that is on me winning, or perhaps dying, or anything else."

"And Crouch?"

"Strange man. His son was a Death Eater whom he sentenced to Azkaban, where he died, swiftly followed by his wife. Once head of the DMLE, now demoted to International Cooperation, all because of Voldemort losing the war and his son being unveiled. If his treatment of his child is anything to go by, he finds his political position to be more important than anything else, and being a cold-hearted pureblood on-top of everything else, I wouldn't put it past him to be a Death Eater, or at least sympathiser. Furthermore, I know he's been acting strangely these last few months – hasn't been in the Ministry much except to attend Head of Department meetings."

"But he was the man in charge of combatting the Death Eaters in the last war," Hermione protested.

"Yes, but how much have you heard about how effective the Ministry was at that? Their defence was shocking, and they mainly served as clean-up crew to remove bodies and obliviate muggles after an attack. The Ministry was riddled with spies and sympathisers, and likely still is since so few were ever prosecuted. And, if you were Voldemort, wouldn't the most effective turncoat you could have be the one co-ordinating the defence against you? I know that were I in his position, Crouch would have been the target to aim for."

"You've got no evidence though, this is just conjecture."

"Oh, of course," Jasmine relented, "but it's enough to put him down as a possibility. That's all that book is, really. Despite watching them, I am no closer to determining who entered me and why." ' _Well, maybe I do have some ideas as to the latter; if Voldemort possessed Quirrel in First Year, that means he's still around and not dead, and he's had time to plan before approaching me. He's the one most likely behind this, which really does not bode well_.' "Still, I have my plans for the Third Task drawn up, and I stand a firm chance of victory."

"Only a firm chance? The other day you were certain."

"Well, nothing in life is certain, especially where magic is involved. It can, however, be predicted within a certain degree of accuracy."

###########################################################################

The suit was smart, but Jasmine couldn't help but fidget at the tightness. She had never quite considered how different the male form was, or indeed other people's bodies, since her only prior usage of Polyjuice was with a girl relatively similar to herself in both age and bodily proportions. Mr Pewtey was also a good half-foot to perhaps a foot taller than her, which was extremely disconcerting as the floor was further away than it should be. Still, she would still prefer to be the one dealing with the issues tonight. Word had come through the DMLE that Scrimgeour was planning to raid and shut down the casino this evening, after some pressure from a snobbish pureblood whose son had lost a fair bit of money at the casino and had then slipped a bribe to higher-ups to have it ordered down to the DMLE.

With slow footsteps, Jasmine moved over to the window overlooking Diagon below. The casino had opened only two weeks ago, and already the traffic was astounding. On the first night, a bit of trickery with magnets on the roulette wheels and such things was used to play the odds in the public's favour, while plying them with cheap or free drinks. Word had quickly spread that the place was an easy way to earn money.

Of course the day after the opening, everything had been reset to be normal and all evidence of trickery hidden, and now people left either jumping for joy or slumping in misery. It was their own fault, really; gambling was a tax on the stupid as it was in plain sight that, statistically, they would always lose.

The pawn-shop that she had had set up across the street was also doing record business as people traded in items for straight up cash to gamble away. She had even been informed that one man had attempted to put up the deed to his home against his losses for the night in one last desperate bet, but she had set down firm rules that stakes were restricted to coinage into house chips – which were magically protected from tampering with or duplicating and the like – and nothing else.

Finally, the red robes appeared before the building with a cracking sound, and Jasmine put on an accommodating smile in preparation before leaving Pewtey's office, pausing only to take another gulp of foul-tasting potion from a hip flask.

"Head Auror Scrimgeour, to what do we owe the pleasure?" she announced in a voice not her own as she descended the stairs from the first floor into the lobby, approaching the group of Aurors with her carefully created smile.

"I'm here to shut down a place that is cheating people out of their money. And you are?" the lion-like man growled similarly to his namesake.

"Arthur Pewtey, I'm the manager. What do you mean cheating people of their funds? I believe you have the wrong place," she said with surprise, "this is a legitimate business."

"Then how would you explain your raking in of gold and the number of people leaving here penniless?" he demanded.

"That's all the luck of the draw, I'm afraid, and do not forget that there are also those who leave with full pockets as well," she smiled innocently.

"What do you mean, luck?" he asked, obviously unaware of the function of the building much like many purebloods.

"This is a casino, Mr Scrimgeour, where games of chance can be played. The rules of which can be seen here; it's all quite simple," she gestured to the walls and the large boards upon them. "A casino is a perfectly legal business practice, and one that has existed for years; just ask any of the muggleborn or raised among your Aurors." She gestured to the group, the majority of whom shuffled around while frowning. Much like everywhere else in the Ministry, there was still a bias in who got to attend Auror training due to blood, money and connections. Scrimgeour simply frowned and raised a single eyebrow.

"Um, sir," one of the younger ones piped up, "he's correct on that, if this is a casino."

"Come, let me show you and we can sort all of this out." She raised a hand to gesture towards the main floor, and the gruff man grudgingly followed her past the archway and guards in uniform. He shivered as they passed through, likely from the magic dampening field.

"Why is this area warded so much?" he inquired, looking out over the floor of roulette wheels and card tables.

"To prevent cheating," she answered, "any use of magic within this space sets off certain alarms and makes it obvious who did it; the games must remain fair after all. Now, allow me to show you how, say, the roulette works?" She gestured over to a table where four people were gathered around, facing the calm man in red uniform spinning the wheel up and depositing the ball. "The wheel over there spins, and a ball goes around the outside. When it eventually stops, it rests in one of the little holes which are each numbered from zero to thirty six, further alternating between red and black, with nought being green. Now, the table is where you place your bet on what the ball will land on," she waved her hand over as a man placed a last minute chip down. "Now, you see there he has placed one in the first-dozen section. That is, he thinks it will land somewhere between the numbers one and twelve, inclusive. It's a relatively safe bet, with odds of twenty-five to twelve of winning, and if he does win, he gets double what he bet. Safer bets will give smaller pay-outs, whereas ones with smaller odds have greater pay-outs. It's all on the wall over there, clear as day."

"Those are all the different options?" he stated, looking over the large board showing a picture of the table and various circles with a capital letter inside, and the associated information on the right with the name and the pay-out.

"That's right, and each number on that wheel is just as likely to appear as the others – there is no tampering whatsoever – and as you can see, no magic is used. It's all luck," she replied deftly, before laying a guiding hand behind his back to turn him over to a table where a game of poker was being played. "Now here, I believe that wizards are familiar with poker?"

"Yes, I do know poker," the man said neutrally.

"Well, it's exactly as it seems; just a game of Texas Hold 'em, I believe. The House takes five percent of each pot, of course, for fees, and the dealer's wages, the cards, the venue, etcetera. Again, standard practice in the muggle world – although they charge anywhere from two and a half to ten percent, depending on the venue. Over there we have blackjack, and there are various other games and such, and I assure you each and every one is perfectly legal. We checked. There is absolutely nothing illegitimate about this business, and there is no legal reason to close us down or arrest anyone. We're just trying to introduce a muggle business into a gap in the wizarding market."

"I still want to go over this setup to see that these…games are fair," he answered.

"Of course; we're closed from three am to seven pm, so any time between then is fine if you wish to examine anything, although I assure you, you'll find nothing. There's no magic and no trickery involved; a lot of this was bought directly from muggle suppliers. Generally, they have better carpenters and we didn't need to explain what everything was to them."

"I believe a few of us shall stay around and observe for a period of time," he replied, glancing over the room's contents.

"Of course; I'll tell the barman to give you anything you ask for, on the house, while you're here."

"We are still on duty, you understand?"

"No reason business shouldn't be mixed with pleasure."

###########################################################################

"It's time to push forwards," the cloaked figure at the head of the table announced as they appeared from thin air. "We hold Britain firmly, and it shall be our staging point as we expand across Europe. Mister Scabior," the man perked up and looked to the figure.

"Yes, sir?" he inquired nervously – still not entirely having kicked the habit of uncertainty in Moriarty's presence. Greyback seemed to be the only one unconcerned.

"Reach out to any contacts you have on the continent – magical and non – prioritising France as our next port of call. There is work to be done, and so much new business to do."

###########################################################################

"You really shouldn't worry so much over the exams, you know," Jasmine said as she held her finger up against a piece of parchment, moving down as she studied the lines of neat writing.

"Says the one who doesn't need to take them this year," Hermione stated, not looking up from her book.

"She's right, though; these exams really don't matter that much," Nadia commented, "we don't take our OWLs until next year; these are just normal end-of-year internal exams. They're not qualifications or anything, just a marker for the teachers to see how well we're doing."

"So we shouldn't disappoint them," the bushy-haired girl argued.

"You won't disappoint them, and endlessly studying won't do much to help you out, just to stress you out," the brunette argued back, "you get too worked up over this stuff, Hermione, you need to calm down a bit. This level of stress isn't good for you. Listen to the Healer."

"Healer-in-training," the other Gryffindor retorted sourly, "that's why Jasmine is looking over your recipe."

"Well, she is a potions prodigy," Nadia said defensively, "and I'm fairly sure this potion will work, but it's always good to get a second opinion, and a third possibly if you'd look over it. Especially since this is important."

"So you admit that your coursework is important, but not that these exams are?"

"Well, considering this is my NEWT coursework versus internal exams that are basically only for student reports, I'd say so, yes."

"Well," Hermione began.

"Oh, enough you two," Jasmine interrupted, "you're both stressed if you're bickering over this small of a thing. Hermione, she's right; you shouldn't worry this much over the exams – they are mainly for benchmarking us and working out where we all are as regards to material we need next year, and that we have a _year_ to correct any problems that may arise. They want to know what we don't know, not what we do. And Nadia, stop worrying over this recipe. It seems fine, and I can tell you it should work as intended; however I would recommend substituting the belladonna neutralised by Emberscale gizzard with a lacewing neutralised by wormwood infusion. It will make it a bit thinner, and reduce its potency somewhat, but it'll be less dangerous if you mess up the quantities of ingredients by some degree. Belladonna is a tricky one to tell when it's been neutralised, and you don't want something which is accidentally poisonous if you didn't neutralise enough of it, or highly combustible if you did too much. Apart from that, I don't see why you shouldn't test it out."

"Right, I'll bring that up with Madam Pomphrey before I try brewing it," the girl said gratefully as she took the piece of parchment back.

"How much do you need in the way of coursework?" Jasmine inquired curiously – certain NEWT subjects required projects of some description, Arithmancy among them, but each had different specifications.

"Well, I'm supposed to specialise in some field of healing, and provide a new and valid contribution to the subject – this potion being mine – which is then documented in a paper to be submitted. And I then also need to be trained in some methods in that field and be able to answer questions on them in the final exam. All in all, it counts for forty percent of my final grade," Nadia answered.

"And you chose dentistry as a specialism?" she queried.

"Well, it isn't something many magical Healers have approached," the Gryffindor stated while leaning back against a desk, "most dental problems are solved by removal and regrowth of the tooth – which uses a variant of skele-gro, which is expensive and painful. This paste," she held up the piece of parchment, "should heal a sore tooth and repair the nerves inside. Plus, Hermione's parents offered me work experience at their clinic this summer – I'm hoping to learn a lot about how muggles treat healing. I couldn't believe you two when you said they actually cut people open and then stitch them back up like a seam of cloth." She shivered with a repulsed look on her face.

"It works, and you have to note that surgery is by-and-large a very successful method that's tried and tested," Hermione said defensively.

"I'm not saying that, I just want to know how it works, and why," she responded.

"That's quite a Ravenclaw attitude," Jasmine commented, "are you sure I'm not rubbing off on you?"

"We both know you're a closet Slytherin," Hermione said with a snort. Jasmine simply shrugged, not denying anything.

"I'm an academic, first and foremost, and so to Ravenclaw I went. Any personality traits that Slytherin house supposedly supports... well, is Malfoy particularly cunning? Or Crabbe and Goyle? I'd rather think I am not in the slightest bit like them."

###########################################################################

Not for the first time, Jasmine was incredibly happy to have her invisibility cloak. The Quidditch pitch – which had also seemingly been magically expanded to a greater size – that housed the maze for the Third Task was under some guards from the Ministry, mainly junior hit wizards on training, in order to prevent cheating or spoiling of the event. Not that it would stop the Ravenclaw, of course.

Walking out onto what once was the pristine pitch – which she did hope was returned to its former glory afterwards, she could admit to perhaps enjoying Quidditch at times – she regarded the walls of hedges that stood around nine foot tall, and made up of dark green leaves. The Task was due to happen in one week's time, and so everything had been finished up on schedule. All that needed to be done was for the Cup to be placed in the centre of the maze on the day itself. And for it to be stocked with all of Hagrid's beasties, of course.

Getting up and close to the nearest hedge, Jasmine surreptitiously glanced around – despite her invisibility – before withdrawing a pair of platinum-bladed secateurs that poked beyond her cloak to snip off a twig of the plant. Quickly, it was picked up and placed under a stasis charm, and Jasmine watched as the piece that she had cut off magically regrew and was replaced exactly as it was before.

"Five seconds regrowth time for roughly eight inches," she muttered as the plant settled down, before turning to walk back towards the castle.

###########################################################################

"This is the cutting you wanted me to identify?" Nadia inquired as she regarded the twig with a few waxy green leaves sprouting off it.

"Yes, oh, and here's your secateurs back," Jasmine handed over the implement with its precious-metal blade. "Why is it made of platinum, anyway?"

"It's the one noble metal that doesn't affect any magical properties of the plants; same reason you have different metal cauldrons that give different effects, but platinum is inert and doesn't have any effect," the brunette answered as she turned the twig over a few times while examining it. The book she had brought was quickly opened up and a few pages consulted. "Well, I can't be certain, but I believe this is Cyrilis Aenta. It's a quick growing hedge plant that can be shaped quite easily; quite a few old houses have gardens with it in. The reason it's not more widely used is that it's difficult to maintain and keep in one area and in the desired shape; there's a few offshoots that are easier to manage. What's this for, anyway?"

"Confirming my suspicions; like you said the other day, it's best to have an expert verify your assumptions when it's something important on the line," she answered. She had originally known of eight or nine possibilities, which had been narrowed down to four when she saw the hedge herself. Now Nadia had confirmed what she had hoped for, but would have needed to spend a number of hours looking through identifying books to certify otherwise.

"Important as my NEWT coursework…is this for the Third Task?" the Gryffindor asked with a curious look.

"Maybe, maybe not, depending on if it would incriminate me to reply in the affirmative," the ravenette gave a shark-like smile. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go make some final preparations for my performance next Saturday." As she turned to leave, she could hear the girl behind her chuckling slightly.

"Oh, Jasmine; always two steps ahead of the game. The other three aren't going to know what hit them," Nadia said with a laugh.

"They'll have egg on their faces when they lose to someone three years their junior," she replied nonchalantly, that same smile still adorning her features. It was almost in the bag, now all she needed to do was turn up and win.

###########################################################################

The slight whistling of the wind, and a splashing from the lake as Nadia skipped a stone across its surface was the only thing that broke the silence of the surprisingly warm – for Britain anyway – late afternoon. The other two girls sat up next to each other, leaning against a gnarled tree that afforded some privacy from those on the grassland behind them, also enjoying the reasonably sunny day while revising.

"What if something goes wrong?" Hermione declared, breaking the peaceful moment.

"It won't," Jasmine replied reassuringly.

"But what if it does?" the Gryffindor turned her head over to stare into emerald eyes. "This Tournament is deadly, and we know that whoever entered you is likely to make their move in this Task."

"Then we'll deal with it, or them," the ravenette stated firmly, while moving her hand to grasp Hermione's tightly. "I'll come back, don't you worry."

"I'll hold you to that."

As the pair turned back to the peaceful scene in front of them, they just caught the image of Nadia smirking at them before turning away to skip another stone. It was a rare moment when the Earth seemingly stood still, and allowed them time to simply be at rest.

Of course, nothing lasts forever.

###########################################################################

Unlike the Second Task, there was actually cheering at the Third. Afternoon light shone down on the packed stands of students, parents, reporters and even dignitaries, home and foreign.

Attention was mainly focused either on the physical champions themselves, or the same floating screens from the Second Task related to their necklaces. Also similarly to the prior event, all three champions were dressed differently. Delacour had once more opted for muggle means, and favoured a light blue and silver fleece tracksuit. Diggory, who this time appeared to be looking less at Delacour and more at the maze, had chosen what looked not dissimilar to rugby gear used by muggle private schools several years prior; a thick, long-sleeved shirt striped yellow and black and with the school crest over his heart, black shorts, and sturdy brown leather boots with studs on the underside. Krum had opted for a tan-coloured tunic, emblazoned with his school crest across his chest, crisp red trousers and hefty leather boots that left him looking quite military in appearance. A lot of attention was once more addressed the way of the youngest champion, however, whose form was entirely obscured in a long black cloak with a deep hood that stopped anyone seeing what was underneath. Jasmine simply smiled, knowing her reveal would probably cause some shock and was best revealed at the opportune moment. She had spent a lot of time preparing it, after all.

###########################################################################

" _Miss Potter," the potion master drawled as he yawned while unlocking the door to the potions' rooms, "I agreed to allow you access to here this early in the morning, requiring no little inconvenience on my part, I do not think it unreasonable that I should ask_ why _."_

" _It's relating to the Third Task this afternoon," Jasmine replied simply, readjusting her hold on the pewter cauldron filled with pouches and vials._

" _I believe that using potions that will affect your performance are banned, are they not?" Snape asked with a raised eyebrow while pushing the door open._

" _The rules specifically state anything you_ imbibe _," the ravenette explained, handing him a piece of parchment while she walked over to her customary place on one of the side-benches in the prep-room._

" _Ah, I had wondered as to your interest in this when you asked me about it a few months ago; a clever diversion around the rules," the dour man replied as he looked over the recipe she'd given him, "remind me, how did you not end up in my house?"_

" _I don't know what you mean, sir," she stated innocently while unpacking her ingredients and placing them in order on the bench._

" _Your mother said the same thing," Snape commented as he placed her recipe back down on the desk. "Might I ask how you're going to use this?"_

" _That would be spoiling the surprise, sir."_

###########################################################################

Her smile only grew as Bagman stepped up to the fore for the penultimate time, and quieted the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the man once more dressed in his tatty Quidditch robes announced, Crouch standing by his side looking ever aloof and uninterested in the whole ordeal. "Welcome, to the final task of the Triwizard Tournament!" He waited for the cheering to die down, seemingly relieved that there actually was some this time around. "In this task, the Champions simply have to get through the maze – which they will each enter from their own entrance – and reach the Triwizard Cup which lies at the centre. The first person to touch the Cup, wins the Tournament! Now, the time at which each Champion will enter the maze is dictated by the points they stand on. For each point they are ahead, they will receive six seconds longer than their compatriots." Jasmine frowned at that, but didn't let it affect her too much. They had lowered it from ten seconds before the task started, so the change was allowed. It was all to give her less of a lead over the others, since she would otherwise have had nearly seven minutes on them. "Since Jasmine Potter is in first place with eighty points, hers is the benchmark time. Viktor Krum is in second with forty points, so he will leave four minutes after Jasmine. Miss Delacour is in third with thirty points, and will leave a minute after the Durmstrang Champion. Mr Diggory is in fourth place with twelve points, meaning he will leave a hundred and eight seconds after Miss Delacour. But fear not, you all; this is by no means a one horse race." ' _You're completely wrong there, you poor little man. This might be over before the last champion even enters_.' "The maze is full of traps, and creatures, and obstacles that will make movement through it _very_ difficult, and the Champions still have to find their way to the centre! I believe we are in for quite a spectacle. Now, Miss Potter, on the sound of the cannon, you will enter the maze and the timing shall begin. Are we ready?" The resounding roar from the crowd made Jasmine think of her fighting ring beneath London's streets; there really was little difference in her mind, and yet it was her business that was illegal. Go figure. "Then in three, tw-." Bagman was cut off as the cannon-blast interrupted him, and he sent a glare at Filch who was supposedly operating the ancient war-machine, and said squib was to be found on his back struggling to get up after it had pushed him over.

Jasmine smirked a little at the scene as she decided it was show time regardless, shrugging off her great cloak. She was quite a sight, that was for sure. Her clothing was muggle sourced, once again, and basically amounted to a dark blue sports bra, clinging black short shorts of the same material, and short, military black leather boots. To a society that was still half-stuck in the Victorian age, especially as far as fashion was concerned, showing that much skin was practically scandalous, especially with how the sportswear clung to her lithe form. However, it likely wasn't the only thing the watchers were concentrating on in regards to her appearance.

Her entire form was covered with spiky swirls, lines and circles standing out with their blue hue against her pale skin. They swept across her entire body, reaching from her forelegs right up to her forehead in ways that had never before been seen in the British Isles. The woad was nothing new, of course, in-fact the paste-like substance was an ancient recipe brewed from the blue blood of fire-crabs found off the coast of Scotland and used often in potions, and various other items found in the North of the island. It was this that the Picts had used to keep the Romans out many, many centuries before. It extracted power from the user's magical core, and imbued their bodies with extra power they would not ordinarily have. It was traditionally used on the front line warriors who had Ogham runes to increase the strength of their limbs, making them faster and stronger; however usage like that could not be sustained for long, as channelling the magic through their flesh damaged it after too-long exposure.

Of course, she wasn't using it for that reason, or using any of the runes that her ancestors had.

These were from a book she had studied often, given to her by Hermione as a Christmas gift, on African tribal runes. Those were designed to be inked onto the skin and withdrew small amounts of magic every day, getting the body to grow in a certain way or encourage one thing or another over the space of several years by doing it slowly. Those runes were rarely used for muscle growth, though, and were more commonly used for changing the properties of skin; making it impervious to harm, or able to withstand the blistering heat of deserts and the like. It was the latter that she had layered across her form.

The Celtic method and African runes combined allowed for her to temporarily make her skin fireproof, although if she kept them on too long she would have a number of ill-effects, however it would do for the duration of the Task. And of course, it allowed her to use her favoured tactic.

Ignoring the crowd's stares, she stepped forth into her entrance and immediately drew her wand, which– along with everything less than a few centimetres from her skin – also fell under the 'field' of the woad runes, and was protected from flames.

"Veloxia Flagrante," she incanted clearly, watching as a plume of fire spewed from the end of her wand into the hedge opposite her; quickly setting it ablaze in the inferno of fire, but it was combatted by the regrowth of the plant. "Bombarda," the second spell to exit her holly wand was yellow in colour, and the blasting curse blew apart the section of organic wall, and Jasmine quickly jumped forward through the gap – feeling only a tickling from the fire still blazing around her – to the other side. A quick glance both ways showed no creatures around to cause her trouble, and so she turned to watch the hedge slowly growing back to its former self, forcing the last sparks away since it was so saturated in sap that it was too wet to burn properly. "About eight seconds, more than enough time," she muttered after the hedge had 'healed' itself, spinning back to face the next wall ahead with a grin. "Veloxia Flagrante."

###########################################################################

The acromantula, which was about the size of a dog, screeched and keened horribly under the end of her well-practiced fire spell. The ravenette didn't let up until it was nothing more than some burned chitin; it never hurt to be sure, after all.

In almost boredom – but with a slightly more tired wave than when she began – she cast her customary spell at the next piece of hedge, swiftly followed by an explosive curse before jumping through the hole she made.

On the other side, she took a moment to rest her hands on her knees; this was tiring her out a lot more than she'd accounted for in planning. Straightening up with a groan, she stilled upon regarding what was in front of her.

And then Jasmine smiled.

There it was, in all its gaudy glory; the cup appeared to be made of artfully carved crystal and sculpted gold, with roaring dragons making up the handles on the side and 'Triwizard' engraved into the hexagonal crystal bowl-shaped part of the cup.

With a triumphant expression on her face, the ravenette reached forward to grab the trophy by a golden serpent's neck.

The smile didn't drop with the tugging at her navel, as the world whipped by around her, squeezing in a familiar way; she had used plenty of portkeys before, and she certainly wasn't going to throw up in front of the public.

Her smile did disappear, however, when she was deposited in a place that definitely wasn't where she was supposed to be. Spinning around, one major thought flickered through her head.

' _Oh bugger; Hermione's going to kill me_.'

 **A/N: And there's your cliff-hanger. Also, I actually managed to sit down and write this! I haven't written this much this quickly in a while – like I said previously, most of the other chapters were held in reserve for a while, and been extensively combed-over and added to before posting. This one might not have that, as I don't know if I'll have the time, so I apologise for any mistakes or typos.**

 **Also, I'd appreciate any ideas on what to call the Casino, as the only half decent one I could come up with was Hadrian's Villa, which sounds rubbish. Anyhow, until the next time!**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Do not go gentle into that good night.**

 **This took a very long time to write, and rewrite, and I'm still not happy with it but I need to upload for you all. I appreciate all the good names for the Casino; you'll see whose got chosen at some point. Please do take a read of the ending A/N as I have something important to say.**

 **Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING, property of respective owners etc.**

Chapter 17

 _With a triumphant expression on her face, the ravenette reached forward to grab the trophy by a golden serpent's neck._

 _The smile didn't drop with the tugging at her navel, as the world whipped by around her, squeezing in a familiar way; she had used plenty of portkeys before, and she certainly wasn't going to throw up in front of the public._

 _Her smile did disappear, however, when she was deposited in a place that definitely wasn't where she was supposed to be. Spinning around, one major thought flickered through her head._

'Oh bugger; Hermione's going to kill me _.'_

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' _Prioritise; need information_ ,' replaced thoughts of concern for her girlfriend, and Jasmine spun on her heel once more, time seemingly slowing down as she put her mindscape to use. ' _Position of Sun and horizon versus where it should be place me somewhere in middle England; Yorkshire maybe? Inconsequential detail._ ' Her sharp eyes picked out details of her location swiftly, eyeballing the unique points. ' _Graveyard, old, dating back a long time with a few graves from each period, likely small village church graveyard_.' Her attention moved to the largest and grandest memorial, which seemed relatively recent at perhaps a few decades old. ' _Thomas Riddle, wife Mary Riddle, son Thomas Riddle…Voldemort's extended family, and they all died on the same day, the same year he let out the Basilisk for the first time. Verifies that it's Voldemort after me, probably here so he can kill me. Could be possessing anyone so assume any and all comers are hostile. Apparition?'_ she reached out her senses to move away from the place, _'nope, wards up, likely against anything that isn't a portkey.'_

"Stupefy!" a voice called from the darkness, and acting upon instinct Jasmine leapt forwards and crouched against a headstone, watching as a jet of red light flew through where she used to be. ' _Stunner, he wants me alive. Why? So he can gloat? No, he's not that stupid_.'

"Come on out, Jasmine!" a second voice declared, more nasally and hoarse-sounding.

' _Second assailant, odds in my favour decreasing_ ,' the world stilled as she closed her eyes for a moment, visualising the scene of the Graveyard and walking around it, seeing her crouched self sitting behind the headstone. ' _Action: could take invisibility guerrilla route and sneak around? Take too long to remove the cloak from my pouch, and my Disillusionment still isn't up to snuff. Next choice: wide area effect, don't need to see targets. Choices? Mostly explosive curses, few darker ones. Wait, am I still being viewed back at Hogwarts? No, scrying spells don't work over ward boundaries, so my arsenal isn't limited, but even so losing that advantage that they don't know that I know dark magic…_ '

"No, no, what you're limited to in offense doesn't matter," declared a voice, and Jasmine spun to face Hermione in her adult form from the mirror sitting on a headstone, dangling her legs around. "You've ruled out your best option without thinking about it. Your disillusionment wasn't up to standard when you were in the First Task, so what did you do?"

' _I compensated for it, used grey clothing. How can I do that here? Unless I otherwise obscure my form_. '

"You don't need to obscure yourself when you can obscure everything," Hermione stated with a condescending smile.

' _Of course, but how?_ ' She glanced down, and smiled. ' _The grass, it's damp, it rained here recently. Water droplets superheated to make steam over wide area, they won't notice any flickers in the air as I move to a better position to flank them_.'

"Don't think about it, do it!" the Hermione clone ordered, and Jasmine's consciousness whipped back to the present and her eyes opened to where she had been a second before.

Swiftly, she tapped her wand to her head and resisted shivering at the feeling as her body became largely disillusioned, before spinning slightly to point her wand just past the slab of stone.

"Veloxia Flagrante!" Jasmine casted the spell she was so familiar with by now, not for the first time that day, and keenly felt the flame spell draw on her depleted reserves of magic as it burned the grass, and as wanted, produced a cloud of smoke and steam. Using the moment quickly, she dashed away, moving to a mausoleum the size of a small shed that afforded her full body cover and a view of the enemy. Peeking her head out a little bit from the opposite side, she looked over at who had attacked her.

' _Pettigrew, but where's the other one?_ ' flashed through her mind as she regarded the rat-like man facing towards where she had been. And then she saw the bundle cradled by the man's left arm move, and a tiny pale arm extend a bone white wand. ' _Small form, adult voice, uses wand so not non-human. This is Voldemort's party, is that him? How would he be…a homunculus, something to do with a dead baby, mentioned in one of the books Moriarty received from Borgin_.' She silently cursed the fact that she hadn't studied much in Dark magic beyond its offensive capabilities in a fight.

"Over there! Wormtail!" the nasally voice commanded, and the chubby, balding man spun to look straight at her, presumably seeing the distortion of her body against the sky behind her. She ducked back quickly, even as an explosive curse broke apart part of the Greco-style mausoleum beside her.

' _Best course of action? Confront and attack; the rat isn't that powerful, and Voldemort is in a weak form, I can take them out quickly with a surprise attack._ '

Stepping out from around the corner, Jasmine chain-shot a pair of Reducto's at them, which were blocked by a shield, but she was already in her element and moving into a swift cutter, followed by a gout of flame. Her incantation of a bone breaker was stopped halfway through as they returned fire, and she was forced to spin out of the way as a rippling purple curse narrowly missed her. Her quick 'Reducto' was foiled by another shield from Pettigrew, while Voldemort fired one back at her, and Jasmine's shield barely came up in time to stop the explosive burst.

' _Might have underestimated them_ ,' flashed through her mind, even as she flicked a spiralling orange hex at her assailants, once more aware of her depleted core. ' _Pettigrew can shield both of them with one spell, and Voldemort can cast offensive in the same area. Bloody aggravating_.' She didn't let up, however, returning fire with a pair of bone-breakers, and another of her beloved explosive curses as she ducked under a sickly grey looking curse.

A second was wasted as she frowned, though, as Pettigrew gave a keen of pain, despite having blocked her attack.

The reason was given as a crack sounded off to her left, and the ravenette's eyes widened as she spun on the spot all too sluggishly, her depleted body refusing to respond fast enough.

It was too late however, and she only had time to see the crimson stunner before everything went black.

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The first thing Jasmine was aware of – and likely the reason for her waking – was a prickling of her skin, like insects constantly moving around underneath it and writhing to push it up. The second was the aching tiredness of her limbs, and the pulsing headache within her skull. The third was a familiar nasal voice barking orders.

"Hurry, Wormtail! The moon is nearly risen!" he commanded.

Finally, the ravenette's heavy eyelids drifted open and took in the scene.

She was still in the graveyard, and now tied to the headstone of the Riddle family with rope. In front of her was a hunched man over a bubbling cauldron, recognisably Pettigrew as he dumped vials of ingredients into the black metal container. Across from him was a more familiar face, holding onto the baby-sized form of Voldemort she had seen earlier; Bartemius Crouch.

Well, it explained who had put her name in the Goblet of Fire, and who had apparated in and stunned her. Presumably, Voldemort had used Pettigrew's Dark Mark to summon him; she hadn't anticipated that. ' _Stupid_!' she admonished herself.

"My Lord, please let me be the one to perform this ritual to return you to proper form," the old man pleaded of the bundle.

"No, Barty, let the rat do it, you have no need to prove your loyalty," Voldemort hissed in return.

"You honour me, my Lord, with your pr-ah," he started choking and spasming slightly. "Poly-urgh." He fumbled visibly in his coat pocket before coming up with an empty vial. A look of despair was just able to made out on his face through the light of the fire under the cauldron before it bubbled and ran like molten wax, and features shifted to become younger but more haggard and gaunt. When it was done, Jasmine was staring at someone who shared several features with Bartemius Crouch, but was most definitely not him.

' _Polyjuice, but how? The Marauder's Map would have shown him as…oh, similar facial features, same eyes, same name. This is his son – the Death Eater – apparently returned from the grave?_ ' Shaking her head minutely, Jasmine tried to force herself to stop obsessing over miniscule detail. ' _Deductions aren't important unless I get out of this situation alive; where's my wand?_ ' A quick feel of her senses for her connection let her eyes fall around to Wormtail, where her attuned stick of holly was poking from his pocket. ' _Next, bindings; rope, hempen, roughly half an inch thick, probably conjured, tight and keeping my arms locked to my side. Think! How do I get out of them?_ '

As she attempted to brainstorm, the prickling of her skin made itself known again in the silence of her mind – like little needles constantly stabbing outwards.

' _Fire_ ,' she realised, ' _I'm still impervious, if I can get a wandless Incendio up my back…_ ' with a slight wriggle of her fingers, she realised they were just about close enough for that to work. ' _Right, once I've escaped, then what?_ ' Her eyes searched about a little before landing on the ornate cup that had served as a Portkey. ' _That should still have a connection to where I left the maze, if I can get to it, I can force it back to its last location. Wait, do I have enough power left to do that?_ ' Barely, was quite possibly the answer; even with relying on the fact the Cup had already been a portkey. And of course, she still needed to get past her three captors – and this time, she wouldn't underestimate them.

"It's time, Wormtail!" barked the command of Voldemort, and the rat poured a final pouch of powder into the cauldron, the potion turning a deep silver upon contact.

"Incendio!" Jasmine whispered as quietly as she could, wiggling her fingers a bit while trying to _push_ magic into them like the way she had learned a few other small bits of wandless magic. She tried not to let it frustrate her when nothing happened.

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son," Wormtail incanted, before turning to her and flicking a wand at the soil beneath her feet. Jasmine tried her hardest to play unconscious, letting her head loll a bit to the side will still furiously trying to channel what little magical reserves she had left into her fingers, watching through nearly closed eyes as a trail of white powder flew from the ground into the cauldron. She could do this! She had an affinity with fire spells, certainly, after all the time spent practicing for the Tournament, and the general spells already in her offensive arsenal.

"Incendio!" she muttered darkly as soon as they turned away from her, trying desperately to ignite the flame atop her fingers. This was a ritual to bring Voldemort back, that much was clear, and all Dark Rituals required sacrifice. Killing a person to fuel it was not uncommon amongst this kind of magic, and that was the logical reason for her presence.

"Flesh of the servant, w-willingly sacrificed, you will revive your master," the rat continued, before giving a keen of pain as he severed his own hand off with a silvery blade, the flesh and bone falling into the newly blood red liquid. Now the idea of Voldemort not wanting Crouch to do it made sense. "B-blood of the enemy," Pettigrew continued, turning to her while using a conjured piece of cloth to staunch his bleeding. "Forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe!"

The same knife was sliced into her upper arm, above where the ropes bit into her, and Jasmine tried to school her expression into one of remained unconsciousness – and found it far too easy. She felt only the pain of a papercut, perhaps, from the cutting of her flesh – what was going on? ' _The Runes_ ,' her mind whispered to her in reply. They'd been left on too long; they needed to come off, and _soon_.

The moment the balding man turned back to his work, Jasmine concentrated all her essence and will into one idea – the warm flickering orange light of flame, central in her mind and pictured in detail – and then she practically shoved her magic into her fingers. Her eyes snapped open as a familiar warm tickling danced across her fingertips and, trying not to let the spell die, she channelled a bit more power into the spell, letting the flames flicker and lick their way up her back to the ropes binding her down.

Her concentration faltered, however, as she looked up to see black smoke enshrouding the cauldron, intersected by crackling silver lightning in places.

' _No, forget distractions, get through the bindings or you're dead!'_ Jasmine wrenched her gaze away from the enfolding ritual, focusing on her little flames eating away at the ropes. She gave a slight push outwards, trying to feel for any give meaning that she was succeeding but there was only a tiny amount of slack. Before her eyes, the cloud over the cauldron dissipated, to reveal a pale, sinewy body that unfolded itself, and awakened with glowing red eyes. In response, Jasmine strained her aching muscles against the ropes, silently demanding that they break and let her loose.

Her opportunity finally came as Pettigrew stepped over to the Dark Lord, who was currently running too-long fingers over his new body, to hand him a black robe. All at once, the ropes binding her down gave way, and with a heave of effort she made the frayed hemp snap in several places, depositing her on her knees on the wet grass.

"Accio wand!" she ordered immediately, holding out her hand towards Pettigrew and the implement in his back pocket. With a force of will disproportionate to her drained body, she sent a mental call to the stick attuned to her magical core, feeling the piece of holly respond and flick from the pocket into her outstretched hand. "Reducto," she incanted as soon as wood touched her palm, and a blast of yellow energy shot towards the newly regenerated Voldemort who simply batted it aside with a bare hand while smiling at her.

"Jasmine Potter," he announced almost amiably, while giving three slow claps. "Welcome to my Triumph!" ' _Déjà vu, much_ ,' she thought to herself while not taking her eyes off the Dark Lord, remembering back to the last time they had met. She didn't miss the wands being drawn by his two lackeys, or that Pettigrew handed over Voldemort's own bone white wand to him. She was outnumbered three-to-one, her core was severely depleted by all her casting today and keeping the runes active for so long, and she was facing down the most feared Dark Lord in Britain's recent history. ' _If he's behaving the same way, maybe I can engage him in conversation again to buy time_.'

"What took you so long?" she asked defiantly, sending a glance beyond Crouch towards the discarded trophy behind him. "You've had more than three years since we last met, although I suppose Quirrel's body probably didn't last you long. Maybe another four to six months, if you took more unicorn blood of course."

"You are an intelligent little girl, aren't you?" the serpentine man replied, looking her over with calculating eyes. "You know, there were plans to help you along in this Tournament until you reached the Cup first at the end of the last task, but none of them were necessary. I'll even confess to being impressed by your ingenious method of passing through the maze," he gestured up and down her rune covered body.

"Praise from Lord Voldemort himself, I'm flattered," she said with a slight faked smile as she stood up slowly, fingering her own wand by her side even as the Dark Lord did the same, and two more were pointed at her from opposite directions. "But why the song and dance? You could have tried to capture me months ago for this, why now?"

"Rituals have power; effort has been expended to bring you here and months of planning, it makes the end result greater, not least that this was performed on the Summer Equinox – a further day of power. I have gained greater strength through it; none shall stand before the renewed Lord Voldemort and live. Which begs the question of you," his glowing eyes narrowed, and Jasmine used the opportunity to take a step backwards – making it look instinctual rather than trying to get a clear line between her and the Cup.

"That is the final problem, isn't it?" she replied, making sure her eyes remained trained on him but looking in her peripheral vision. ' _Roughly four or five seconds to summon the Cup, another three to turn it back into a Portkey and follow the trace back. It's too long; I need a distraction_.'

"Yes, but one that has two simple solutions," Voldemort stated, giving a shark-like smile, "you can die, of course, and in your current condition it would be all too simple to dispose of you, but it would seem such a waste of young talent. Instead, you can join me, and you will know power that you could never have dreamed of. I have much use for someone of a quick mind and powerful magic, even with your…unfortunate blood status. You already have the potential; by my side you could be truly great."

"Interesting offer, I'm sure," she took another step backwards, flicking her eyes towards the two Death Eaters ready to attack her about twenty feet away from her on both sides – plenty of room to manoeuvre. "But, you see; although my robes have blue trim, that wasn't where the Hat would have placed me if it could see into my mind at the Sorting. I'm a Slytherin through and through, really, and those of the House of cunning always have a way out. Gehenne Ignitia!" Finally she raised her wand, flicking it upwards even as a blazing dragon of orange flame formed on the end, spurting out like water from a fire hydrant. Of course, this time around she had no control runes, and it spilled forward in blistering heat and continued to spew from her wand. "Finite!" She had to physically force magic through her holly instrument to stop the Fiendfyre from continuing to emerge, but it of course didn't affect the conflagration that was brewing in front of her and a flaming horse that had turned its eyes upon her. "Accio Cup!" her wand was flicked out to the side, and the ornate trophy whistled towards her at some speed, but it overshot as Jasmine was forced to duck down onto one knee from a green killing curse that shot over her bowed head from past the fire.

With wide eyes, she sought out the trophy even as she could feel the flickering heat of the flames – her runes would do nothing to protect her body against the fires of Hell itself.

"Enough!" a voice roared, and the Fiendfyre seemed to be sucked forwards until the sight of the three men was unveiled once more with the last sparks travelling inside of Voldemort's wand. ' _Bloody hell, he can control Fiendfyre that well?_ ' "You have chosen poorly in attempting this folly; I had hoped you would see the right decision here, but instead you leave me no choice."

"This would just make the third time in my life you've tried to kill me, _Tom Riddle_ ," she answered, looking over at him with disdain in her eyes, feeling some malicious glee as anger and surprise filled his own.

"Avada Kedavra!" he cried out in rage at her use of his real name, and Jasmine desperately tried to counter the pale green curse as it barrelled towards her with a conjured rock, but her arm was too sluggish to bring the stone into place quickly enough, and it missed. What she did not expect to see was the sudden golden stream that both her levitation spell and the killing curse turned into, connecting their wands even as a gold cage of light spawned into existence around them, blocking off the other two persons present. ' _What the hell?_ ' flashed through her mind as she regarded the chord of magic connecting their wands, and the ball of light present where the spells had hit each other.

What also made itself known was the sound of Phoenix song, and Jasmine noted the surprise on the Dark Lord's face disappear momentarily as it was replaced with pain, an expression mirrored on her own as the Light magic grated upon her ears. Of course, she had merely dabbled in fell magics, he was steeped in them and using a body crafted through the Dark Arts – for once in the last few minutes, she had the advantage.

However, she was so distracted by the strange events that she barely noticed the ball of light beginning to bob closer to her, and she instinctively focused on it – knowing that to not be a good thing. ' _No_!' her mind cried, and she focused on the small piece of magic, watching as it was pushed back in the other direction towards her assailant. And then Jasmine gave a slight smile; this was a battle of wills. And in such a contest, any opponent against her was unarmed.

With all her strength of mind – which unlike her body was at its full might – she threw herself behind the energy of her wand, watching the sparking sphere move away from her. Voldemort seemed to catch on relatively quickly, and she felt him resisting her, but nothing would dissuade her iron willed mind and she let everything fall by the wayside as she concentrated. Her pain from her aching form disappeared, her view of the graveyard became nothing, and even her awareness of the Phoenix song was relegated to a back bench as she pushed with all her formidable might.

Finally, after seconds that felt like hours, the energy pressed into the tip of Voldemort's pale wand, and shades of light flashed away from it like fireworks. ' _Priori Incantatum_ ,' her mind provided her as she watched the wand spewing out copies of the last spells it cast while its wielder began to gain a slightly panicked look. With the last vestiges of her strength, she gave an extra push into the chord of magic and there was an audible snap of cracking wood as something gave in his wand.

Suddenly, the chain was broken as the red-eyed man pulled his wand away in an upwards flick, severing the connection and unleashing a backlash upon himself as those previously pale flashes collapsed onto him. All too quickly, the golden cage began to fall apart, and Jasmine's eyes sought her prize in order to use the opportunity she had been given.

With every last bit of energy in her body, she sprung to the side from her position in a leap worthy of a goalkeeper at the world cup, reaching for the gold and crystal trophy that was her only way out. As soon as her fingers brushed against it, there was a surprising tug at her navel, and she was pulled from the graveyard. The black emptiness of oblivion surrounded her even as a triumphant smile crawled its way onto her lips. She hadn't even needed to power it herself; the morons had left it as a two-way portkey.

With a thump, she finally arrived at her destination, the shock of impact extremely jarring to her aching form. Her green eyes scanned around to see the hedges of the maze, and various stunned looking adults from Dumbledore to what looked like several Aurors standing around staring at her as she appeared from thin air on the pedestal, clutching the Triwizard Trophy.

Her mind tried to come up with some witty quip for the assembled group, but instead the tiredness of her body and all the aches and pains of the day overwhelmed her, and she passed out into the welcoming blackness of unconsciousness.

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As Jasmine's mind slowly woke up from slumber, she became aware of the pounding in her skull, and a slightly wet numbness in her limbs as well as her eyes feeling like lead weights were attached to them. They twitched as she heard voices nearby, and her ears strained to catch the sound.

"Headmaster, I must protest; she needs rest and is in no condition for doing anything else," stated the matronly voice of Madame Pomphrey.

"I'm sorry, Poppy, but we must learn what has happened," said Headmaster replied, and Jasmine finally managed to force her eyes open to see a green curtain around her hospital bed being pulled aside to reveal four figures; the ever present matron of Hogwarts, its ' _esteemed'_ headmaster, Cornelius Fudge, and Madame Bones. "And I believe she is already awake."

The ravenette tried to sit up in response, but found her leaden limbs uncooperative. Looking aside slightly, she could just see linen bandages coating her shoulder and looking like it covered her entire form.

"What?" slipped past her lips in a hoarse voice.

"Don't try to expend any effort, Miss Potter," the busybody nurse ordered as she shuffled over to her side, waving a wand over her body. "You're suffering from magical exhaustion on top of all the damage you've done to yourself with those silly runes."

"Damage?" the ravenette croaked with concern colouring her tone.

"There is a good reason those old methods are no longer used; you've put enormous stress on your skin and the muscles beneath it that are extremely difficult to heal with magic," the old woman replied tersely.

"Wonderful," the ravenette replied sarcastically, memories flooding back of the Third Task. She had known that to be a risk, but she hadn't considered what might happen after grabbing the Trophy. Getting tied up for several hours would not have done her body any good, and then of course there was the fact that Voldemort was hanging around with a proper body…

"Jas-Miss Potter," Dumbledore managed to correct himself as she sent a baleful glare his way, "we must ask what it is that happened when you left the maze? You were gone for several hours."

"It was a portkey," she answered annoyedly as she once more tried to sit up, finding her body still unresponsive. "Madame Pomphrey, would you release the spell holding me down?"

"Miss Potter, you should not be moving around and I placed that spell for a reason," the nurse replied.

"I merely wish to sit up, thank-you," she said firmly, and witch paused before giving a flick of her wand. The numbness faded slightly from her body upon feeling it wash over her, but without it a faint aching could be felt from her skin all over herself – not dissimilarly to sunburn or the like. With a grunt of effort, she pushed herself up against the headboard and pillows before continuing. "I was taken to a graveyard and attacked," she paused, deciding what to say. Based on the fact that Voldemort had returned, he would be pursuing the same goals he did previously, with the addition of her death of course, so having the Ministry chasing him down would probably be a good thing. "By Peter Pettigrew, Bartemius Crouch, and what appeared to be the man who calls himself Lord Voldemort." Two of the four adults flinched at the name, though Dumbledore's only reaction was a deep frown while Bones stared at her with incredulity.

"That, that's not p-possible," Fudge spluttered.

"The latter was in the body of a baby from what I could see," Jasmine continued as if the man had said nothing, "I was stunned, and I woke up near nightfall tied to a gravestone while Pettigrew was preparing a potion. I was in time to see Crouch's body morph into that of his son the convicted Death Eater – he'd been using polyjuice potion it would seem. They performed a ritual which used a bone from a grave, Pettigrew's hand and my blood, after which Voldemort emerged fully formed – although not particularly human looking, I'll grant you. He had red eyes, white skin and unnaturally long limbs and such. I broke free from my ropes with a fire spell, and I then…duelled him until I could grab the cup – which brought me back to the maze." The majority of what she had said was the truth, which was a rare thing for her; however Fudge seemed to not be reacting well.

"No, no, he can't be back, it's preposterous. The man's been dead for thirteen years," the bumbling ministers announced.

"Minister, when we followed the Portkey trace, it did lead to a graveyard, and there were traces of Dark Magic in the air still," Madame Bones commented firmly. "We must at least consider the possibility."

"It's impossible; I mean, Barty Crouch Junior disguised as his father with polyjuice? He died in Azkaban more than a decade ago," the pudgy man replied. "No, I'm sure this can't have happened."

"Are you suggesting that I am lying, Minister?" Jasmine inquired in a calm but dangerous sounding voice, and the man seemed to visibly gulp at realising what he was implying.

"No, but perhaps you were mistaken. They could be imposters, perhaps! Yes, people seeking to capitalise on the legend of…of You-Know-Who, probably led by that criminal Pettigrew!" The man seemed to relax then, more content with the lie he was telling himself. "I'm sure we can round up three men, can we not, Madame Bones?"

"Yes," the woman replied neutrally, her face stony.

"Then that settles it," the politician announced.

"Cornelius, I don't think you should dismiss this quite so quickly," Dumbledore interjected, "I did warn you of this possibility."

"Nonsense, Dumbledore, it's just probably some foreign Dark Wizard or someone Pettigrew has recruited masquerading as him in order to create fear," Fudge insisted firmly. "If you'll excuse me, I must be going – interview with the Prophet I need to attend. Oh, I nearly forgot; your winnings, Miss Potter." He produced a bulging pouch of coinage from an expanded pocket. He seemed lost for a moment on how to give it to her before placing it on her bedside table. "So long." And with that, he put back on the green bowler hat he had been carrying and walked off briskly.

"Madame Bones," Jasmine stated from her position on the bed, "would you mind scheduling a meeting with me." A glare was sent her way from the school nurse. "Sometime next week, perhaps? There are some things I would discuss with you."

"I shall see what I can do," the steely woman stated before following the Minister. The woman was just moving past the green curtains around her bed when she was bodily pushed out of the way by a breathless, bushy-haired student that practically leapt until she was clinging to Jasmine's side, arms clasped around the ravenette.

"Hello to you too, Hermione," the Ravenclaw murmured as her face was filled with brown hair.

"Miss Granger!" Pomphrey started, hands placed on her hips before Jasmine raised her own, palm outward.

"Would you mind giving us a moment Madame, Professor," Jasmine eyed the grey-bearded man who had seemed deep in thought since she had told her story.

"Yes, of course, come along Poppy," he actually smiled at her, which was a disconcerting sight to see. As soon as the pair had closed the curtains, Hermione had her wand out and layered several privacy charms over the space until she was satisfied.

And then a lip-searing kiss was laid upon her, and the rest of the world faded away. They stayed glued to each other for several glorious moments before the Gryffindor pulled back for air.

"I thought I'd lost you," Hermione stated, and Jasmine could see the frantic look in her eyes that had only ever been seen during revision times prior to now. "When you disappeared with the trophy, and the screen went black, and you didn't come back…"

"No; I might lose an arm, or maybe a leg, but pack it all in together? Never," the ravenette replied, reaching out to clasp the other girl's hand before realising her own was sheathed in bandages.

"Don't joke about that," Hermione said firmly, "what happened?"

"Voldemort," she answered simply, "he finally came back for me after leaving in First Year. Had some kind of resurrection ritual using my blood to get a proper body, and then offered me a place with him."

"And you told him to sod off, I'm guessing?"

"Essentially, yes."

"But he's definitely back, then?" A sight look of fear covered the normally feisty girl's face.

"Yes," she answered gravely, finally considering all the consequences that it entailed. A hell of a lot of things needed to happen now, and quickly too. "You and your parents speak French, don't you?"

"Yes, however if you're even thinking of shipping me off to France while you stay here," the warning in her voice was not idle.

"I was actually going to suggest Canada; it's a commonwealth nation," she replied calmly, "and I know you'd refuse to go, but it was worth a try. I still want to move your parents there, though."

"You think there's that big a danger?" Hermione worried her lip as she looked away, concern showing on her visage.

"Absolutely – you are my best friend, as far as the public is concerned, and one of very few people I associate with, as well as being muggleborn and regularly showing up the pureblood students. You, and by extension your family, are at risk as long as you remain in Britain. I can have wards put up around your home but I'd prefer to be certain – I know losing them would devastate you."

"We… can we talk about this another time; I need to think some things over," the bushy-haired girl replied.

"Of course, we have time before they start going on the offensive, that's for sure. He has to rebuild his powerbase right now before he can do anything, and it gives us the chance to do the same," Jasmine frowned as she considered just how much work was ahead, "there's a lot I need to do."

"I'll be here to help you," Hermione said firmly, and the ravenette sent her a thankful smile.

"Have I ever mentioned I love you?"

"Once or twice." The Ravenclaw chuckled slightly as she pushed herself up; wincing as doing so sent a twinge through the palms of her hands. "Stop, you're hurting yourself. What was it those runes did after leaving them on so long?"

"I have no idea; those African runes have never been used in that way before," Jasmine replied with a grimace, "if you could drop the charms, I'd quite like to ask Madame Pomphrey actually." The Gryffindor replied in giving her another quick kiss before dropping the secrecy charms, after which the old matron immediately moved past the curtain as if she had been waiting impatiently.

"It would be best for you to leave now, Miss Granger, it's important Miss Potter receive rest in order to heal and all this excitement isn't conducive to that," the white-haired lady ordered.

"Before you drug me, Madame Pomphrey, I would like to know the extent of my injuries?" the ravenette queried.

"Yes, well," the woman tapped her wand-tip against the palm of her opposite hand, "your skin is the most damaged, as that was what you were trying to affect, and as a result is now highly sensitive as well as you may have lost some nerve endings and fine motor skills. I'm afraid that I can't heal this with magic, as it was caused by this level of magic from your own core, it will resist all healing unless you are entirely drained of magic – which would require you to become a squib. There's nothing I can do for that, although you may regain a little over time naturally, I doubt it. The result is your skin is now highly vulnerable; any cuts will take longer to heal, and I highly recommend you not allow direct sunlight to touch it or there will be ill effects."

"Are you saying I'm going to have to cover up like a vampire now?"

"I'm saying either you do, or you will be straight back in here for burn damage," the nurse replied sternly. "Furthermore, there was some damage to your muscles from channelling all this magic to your skin, but since they were the conduit only I can repair them – however you will not be leaving that bed until I say you are able to."

"Oh, joy," the ravenette muttered, already dreading the days upcoming confined to her rest. Well, at least it gave her time to plan.

 _#####################################################_

The security guard's eyes widened slightly as he looked up from his desk at her, though in fairness she had dressed to impress somewhat. Her garb made from dragon skin clad her of course, overlaying a pair of black trousers, a similarly coloured waistcoat and white shirt that had a single button open before meeting a black scarf that wrapped around her neck to her lower face. Above there, and resting beneath the brim of her hat, was a pair of round sunglasses of a vintage feel with its gold rims, and slight side-shields of the same metal. A hand snaked up to pull down her scarf, unveiling the unnaturally pale skin that now juxtaposed with her pale pink lips.

"Jasmine Potter to see Madame Bones," she enunciated clearly, watching the man suddenly scramble for an obsidian stick from his desk which he waved at her, apparently feeling nothing.

"Er, your w-wand, please, Miss Potter," he asked hesitantly. A flick of her wrist, and the holly stick was deposited in her gloved hand – coated in brown leather of course – before she handed the instrument over. The man set it on some scales that recorded a few pieces of information before returning it to her. "You may proceed. Department of Magical Law Enforcement is eighth level."

"Thank-you," she replied dispassionately as she returned her wand to its wrist holster before continuing onwards towards one of the golden elevators. It was honestly a bit of a pain to stay constantly covered up like this, but she had quickly discovered how necessary they were – just a short experiment had quickly turned her porcelain epidermis pink, and even with sunglasses on the sun aggravated her. She was no longer quite so proud of finding a way to make the runes keep her eyes and mouth and such safe as well as her skin.

She ignored the looks and some stares as she stood stiffly in the elevator, only stepping out once she reached the DMLE and immediately setting forth with determination through the Auror office to the door with a gold plaque on the far side. She paused only then, to finally knock on the mahogany door.

"Come in," a voice called, and she opened it to be greeted with the minimalist office of one Madame Bones, who currently sat at her hefty desk with several sheets of parchment she was apparently studying. "Ah, Miss Potter, you're early."

"Better to be early than to be late," she replied as she took a seat opposite the formidable woman. "You know, despite the contact we've had, this is my first time in your office."

"That was dealing with politics rather than law enforcement most of the time; this is far more important," the steel-grey haired woman plucked the papers from her desk and shoved them in a drawer before leaning back to look at her contemplatively. "I believe you know what my first question will be."

"Am I certain Voldemort has returned?" Jasmine liked that the ex-auror didn't so much as flinch at the name. "Definitely. We traded the traditional 'banter' while fighting, and due to another reason I won't disclose I am sure it was him." Bones didn't look particularly happy about her leaving something out, but apparently seemed satisfied as she sighed while opening a lower drawer on her desk and withdrawing a crystal tumbler of brown liquid that she poured out into a well-used looking glass.

"The minister has of course released statements detailing that you were attacked by Pettigrew and his men, and that my department is working on it. So far, the fact that Crouch has disappeared has been kept quiet and he is obviously looking to keep it that way – I imagine he would not be best pleased if you gave out that little titbit," her tone suggested that she hoped Jasmine would.

"Meanwhile your departmental budget has been cut yet again in order to line some career politicians' pockets, and you are woefully underequipped after more than a dozen years of said," Jasmine commented. "Not to mention, if Fudge gets wind of anything you're saying or doing to combat Voldemort, you'll be hemmed in on all sides by things he'll force on you to smother your efforts while also trying to get you thrown out of your job."

"He's been trying to get rid of me for years," the woman admitted.

"He's a moron who can't see past the end of his wallet and the bribes that get slipped in it," Jasmine summed up, "however, he can't go around this." She withdrew from a side pocket two sheets of parchment. "These are ready to be filed once signed by you and myself; the James Potter Foundation in order to supply our Law Enforcement personnel with proper equipment and more men, and the Lily Potter Foundation to provide for the training system in order to get more through training quicker and better than before." She slid the parchment across the desk, and Bones' eyes widened under her monocle as she read them.

"This is quite a substantial sum you're offering," she finally said.

"Not offering; donating. Or funding if you prefer," the ravenette stated, "your forces need bulking up if we're to survive the coming storm."

"This will let me do just that; thank-you," the grizzled woman seemed genuine in her appreciation, and Jasmine merely inclined her head in reply.

"I might call upon you for some evidence on Saturday's 'emergency session' by the way," the ravenette said as she stood to leave.

"It's being pushed to Sunday; Fudge isn't happy with Dumbledore since he knows what angle he's going to try and spread," Bones replied, "I think he means to call for a vote of no confidence if he can get the support."

"That may not be a bad thing," Bones' eyebrow rose at her reply. "Dumbledore is a manipulator, and an idealist. If he had his way we'd let everyone who committed a wrongdoing let go in order to have a second chance, and yet at the same time he will sacrifice anyone for his nebulous 'Greater Good.' I was of a mind to suggest Amos Diggory as his replacement."

"I…can't say I disapprove of your choice," Amelia admitted. Diggory was one of the leaders of the slightly lighter-aligned neutrals within the Wizengamot, and was a personal friend of Bones she knew, as well as being an upstanding citizen serving on the Hogwarts Board of Governors and such. "He's a proud man, with plenty of character flaws, but he'd be able to sort through all the bullshit."

"I have plenty of contacts with the Light-aligned Houses I plan on speaking to; if you could do the same amongst the neutrals then we have an almost sure chance of installing him in the chair."

"I'll see what I can do," she eventually replied after a few moments silence.

 _#####################################################_

"Ah, Mr Malfoy," Jasmine stood as Fox closed the door behind the man, moving over to her drinks globe. "I have a new Napoleonic I've been wanting to surprise you with."

"You have a fine taste in brandy," the man replied smoothly as he settled himself in the chair before her desk, accepting a glass from her as she offered it. "Mm, divine as always," he added upon tasting the fine liquor.

"Yes, if there's one thing muggles can do right, it's alcohol," Jasmine said as she sat back in her own seat, nursing a glass of her own – it was still highly potent to her undeveloped palette, but she was getting used to alcohol as she had a need to. "And of course, they are so very useful and easy to control in many other aspects. Like shipping contraband around the world – stick it in a crate on a cargo vessel, and a few mind-altering charms here and there, and it's child's play to ship anything from dark artefacts to a manticore." She swirled the liquid in her glass for a moment, "wouldn't you agree?"

"I suppose," he drawled, "to be fair, I tend not to think of them."

"Well, they are beneath us after all," she said with a smile, one echoed on the blond man's own face.

"Of course."

"However, you give enough peasant folk pitchforks and a reason to hate you, and even the great kings in their castles can be toppled," she set down her glass upon the desk and steepled her fingers. "Tell me, Mister Malfoy, how is your life?"

"I'm not entirely sure I follow," he said with a frown, his brows furrowed.

"Your life – you have your mansion and estate, a fairly sizable fortune and assets, power within the Wizengamot and even the Minister for Magic dancing to your tune. Practically anything you could want, you can have – whether through the ministry, or through our organization. And this life of luxury you have lived for many a year, and your son shall have the same when his time comes. So my question is this; why would you need a master to take some of these freedoms from you, and expect you to be grateful as you are shackled to his throne?" Malfoy's expression was now entirely schooled and neutral, not betraying a single thing.

"I don't know what you mean," he said tightly.

"Yes you do; he's probably already brought the Inner Circle together by now, and probably wasn't too happy with you all for abandoning his name – did he just use the cruciatus, or did he go further?" A slight twitch of his eyelid was his only response. "Lucius," she leaned forward in a relaxed position, using the man's first name for the first time, "is this really what you want? Right now, you control whatever you want to – you have the minister's ear, political power, financial, etcetera – and I don't think you are quite the young, radical idealist that stepped out of Hogwarts wanting to clear up your world of the mudbloods anymore, are you? With age comes wisdom, and you know as well as I do how easy they are to exploit – we are planning on opening what amounts to a potions factory in a month, with thirty employees brewing all day on practically a slave wage, and they will take that just to stay in the magical world. There's far more use in them if they're educated, and if they _believe_ themselves to be free."

"They do not belong in our world," Malfoy growled out.

"I would say they have their uses," Jasmine raised her glass off the table demonstratively. "Lucius, what has the man you followed actually promised to you, or more importantly delivered? He's a silver-tongued politician and aspiring dictator at first glance, but he's also a thug and a liar. What did you gain by fighting with him? A mark on your arm that won't go away – branding you as his property or the like – and a severe decrease in the magical population. Despite your differing political opinions, you must mourn the families that died out in the last war – many following that man who has lied to you at every step." She stood, moving to a side table that held an open book where she had left it for this moment. "Cavendish, Gibbon, Fawley, McKinnon, Savin, and that's just those who are entirely gone. Longbottom, Black, Crouch, Rowle, Bones, even the Potters; all of these are unlikely to survive more than a decade and all are shadows of their former selves. And all at the whim of a half-blood who wanted the world." Malfoy's head whipped around at that, and she gave a sad smile – faked of course – as she shook her head. "I did tell you he was a liar through and through. ' _Lord Voldemort_ ,'" the man shuddered slightly at the name, "it's bad French, and it's his real name as much as mine is Adler. No, it's a name he gave himself at school."

Much as Voldemort himself had done, she flicked her ebony wand form her sleeve and wrote fiery lets in the air to spell 'Tom Marvolo Riddle,' letting Malfoy read the name before rearranging them to show 'I am Lord Voldemort.'

"No…" he murmured under his breath, his jaw slack as he stared.

"Born Thomas Marvolo Riddle in Wool's Orphanage, London," Jasmine replied, opening a drawer on her desk as she sat and pulling out a brown file – she had been busy these last few days, and it hadn't been difficult to track down where the graveyard had been and thereby a few other paper-trails that led her to records of the Gaunt family nearby, and then of course she could access genealogy records at Gringotts'. "Mother; Merope Gaunt – from what I've gathered, practically a squib, and her family lived in squalor." She was still trying to find where exactly he had lived, in-case there was anything there, but all the local muggles couldn't remember where they were – which was decidedly suspicious. She had resolved that the area needed to be combed while looking for wards or magic. "His father was Thomas Riddle Junior, son of the local lord of the manor and most definitely a muggle."

"That's not possible!" Malfoy shot to his feet, "there's no way that…" he trailed off, realising he might be about to incriminate himself more likely.

"Simple facts, Mr Malfoy," Jasmine leaned back in her chair, "Voldemort, while a master of Dark Arts, is a half-blood who has been lying to you, your family and everyone you knew for decades. He simply wants to rule the world, and apparently decided to take advantage of the situation where the purebloods were riled up for a fight already. He manipulated you, spent your gold, and ordered you around like common thugs."

"All this time…" the blond man sat back down, looking slightly dazed.

"And of course, he offered you the position of knights in his kingdom – if he ever succeeded – while you are already a prince," Jasmine watched him carefully as she mulled over the next part of her speech. "What's more, he's bad for business. The Ministry is easy to control, and gold gets us anything we want – he would change that. My employer would like to see Voldemort ended, for good this time. It would be unwise to stick with him, although I doubt you wish to after these revelations." Grey eyes found her own, and she smiled slightly. "You will of course be thinking that things are not that easy; rest assured we have thought of this – it's why I'm approaching you. We have plenty of ways to counter Voldemort, and plans are already in motion to do so. We also offer protection and support for any…defectors. Aside from having a not inconsiderable force of our own, we also have numerous safe-houses at our disposal as well as substantial assets."

"Why would you offer this; what have you to gain?" he asked carefully.

"Pulling away his power base before he can even round it up makes things easier for us," she answered, "without his Death Eaters, he's just one – albeit powerful – man, and that we can deal with easily."

"I…shall need to think on several things," Malfoy eventually stated, standing up and moving to leave.

"Before you go, I should mention; we will be moving against him regardless of who is with him, so I would recommend you not doing or else face my employer's…considerable wrath with him. And, he also bade me offer to you a position," she steepled her fingers once more as she pondered how best to phrase this. "We lack information in his camp at present time, and you are in a very good position within his inner circle, and you have him relying on you for many things. We would appreciate someone amongst his ranks who would be able to provide us information on his movements and plans, and would be willing to compensate you to a very large degree."

"You wish me to be a spy?" he inquired disbelievingly.

"Essentially, yes. We will not be offended if you choose safety instead – there are of course risks with this course of action – but do consider what it might bring you. Our organisation holds power not just here, but expanding beyond this nation's borders, and we have access to anything you might desire – and unlike Voldemort, we will actually deliver."

"Yes," he rubbed his chin a little, "you have given me much to think about; I think I shall bid you my leave."

"Of course, good day Mister Malfoy," she gave a wave of her hand as he walked out, before slumping back in her seat. That hadn't gone terribly; it hadn't gone amazingly either, but it was definitely hovering on her advantage side of things. With a lazy grab, she swooped up her glass and downed the remaining contents, shivering as the alcohol burned its way down her throat.

'So much to do, so little time,' wandered through her head as she pulled out a drawer and from therein several pieces of parchment, 'plans within plans, wheels within wheels. You have no idea what you've unleashed, Tom Riddle.'

 **A/N: Phew, finally done and over with. I literally only just finished this at seven thirty, with plans to upload in about twenty minutes from now, so forgive me if it's a bit rough in places.**

 **I think I might need to push the update schedule back a bit – I've had to finish this while I've supposed to have been working. I think every fortnight might be a bit easier to handle, so I'm afraid this will now be having slower updates – I'll be trying every second Monday and see how it goes. I'm sorry for doing this, but I just don't have a choice. In return, I think I will be able to post some of my unfinished work file instead in this' place next Monday so maybe some of you will enjoy that.**

 **Anyhow, until the next time.**


	18. Chapter 18

The woodland glade was lit as rays of sunlight filtered through the tall forest trees. Truly, the Sun was shining with all its might to illuminate the patch of open space amidst the trees, and this was odd because it was the middle of the night.

Still, none of this had yet mattered a jot to those at the centre of the patch of woodland, for there stood a long table with white tablecloth, perfectly set cutlery and other various bits of paraphernalia for a tea party. Seated at this table were three figures – or at least, three that could be seen at any rate.

The first figure sat at the head of the table, and was probably the most normal of the trio, being a tall man with smart Edwardian-style clothing, grim countenance, and gun-metal grey hair poking out from under a large top hat, with a small note reading 'In this style, 10/6' atop its brim. The man – who bore a striking resemblance to one by the name, Michael Caine – took a sip from a porcelain cup of hot tea while nonchalantly surveying his surroundings as well as his companions.

The first of his compatriots was sitting bolt upright in his chair, glancing around quite frantically at the dark, seemingly endless woodlands beyond the glade, the table layered with teapots and cake stands, and the man sitting calmly to his left. As he turned his head so wildly, his large ears flopped about and his buck-teeth gnawed anxiously upon his lower lip.

"Where the bloody 'ell is this, and who the bloody 'ell are you?" the anthropomorphic hare – for that is what he was – enunciated in a thick accent of indeterminable origin.

"I think," replied a small voice from opposite him, "that that's Michael Caine."

The Hare turned to glance at the third member of this meeting, spying a more familiar visage in the small dormouse sitting atop a miniature high-chair upon the table top, smoothing her dress down while fingering a large needle that almost dwarfed her tiny body in size.

"I believe," the silent figure finally spoke up, "that I am the one that they call Scrooge. And yet, I am not." He made no mention as to the potential plot hole of having a fictional character know of the very real actor whose visage he sported, nor of the fourth wall breaking this implied. "I am the stand in as a personification of the author."

"The author?" the dormouse squeaked incredulously.

"Yes, the one typing all of this as we speak."

"Ah, that makes a wee bit more sense," the hare stated as he poured his own tea, "it's been a good long while since we've been written aboot."

"It's all been films of late," the dormouse commiserated while spiking a chunk of cake with her needle without moving from her spot, "lord knows how they got so far from the source material." At this, the man who may or may not have been Scrooge chortled, an amused smile stretching across his features.

"Yes, well, that may be, but I think we are in no position to speak of such things given the contents of this story we are appearing in," the man wryly replied.

"Oh?" inquired the hare as he dropped a lump of sugar into his now filled cup.

"Yes, this exists within the realms of fanfiction, you see." At this, the pair both jumped, the hare spilling his tea all over the place and the dormouse dropping her crumb of sweet sugary delight.

"Oh gods please tell me I don't have to go up anyone's behind?" the small rodent whimpered, seemingly shrinking into herself.

"And it's probably a crossover with eight different fandoms, and with a harem story with every female to boot!" the hare added angrily, "and ah'll have to spend chapters being subjected to endless petting before being blown up by a golden hand grenade! I tell you, I am no rabbit! Entirely different subspecies!"

"Calm yourselves, nothing of the sort is going to happen," Scrooge interjected, making a small motion with his hand. "We are merely here to serve as the… Author's Note, I believe it is named."

"What, that space at the start and end of each chapter where authors write far too much drivel keeping people from the main story?"

"Yes, well," the man pointedly looked away, "it's something of a new thing the author wishes to test out with this chapter; partially as an apology for such a wait it has been since this tale was updated – they apologise profusely by the way, something about 'real life' being awful, and appreciating all the support from the many reviewers who lent kind words earlier in the year."

"It's awful to not keep your word like this; truly shameful!" the resident rodent rallied with needle once more held aloft, "thou should not promise when thou cannot deliver!"

"Again, the author respects the dislike of the delay and is verbose in both apology and appreciation for sticking along," Scrooge continued, "the other, perhaps larger, reason for this diversion away from the norm is that they wish to give some – albeit belated – tribute to a man named Bob."

Two teacups and a needle were lifted aloft in toast, while "Thou shalt be sorely missed," was intoned solemnly by all three, a tear pooling in the hare's eye at the literary loss.

"I guess that explains a bit," the dormouse allowed as she returned to pricking the nearby cake for titbits.

"Indeed," the man in the hat replied, once more taking a sip of his tea. "There remains but one thing to say and make this thousand word note meaningful to some cold hearted persons in legal departments about the world."

"May I?" the Hare inquired sorrowfully.

"Go ahead," Scrooge stated with a waved hand. The leporine creature turned towards the sky, and shouted his declaration to the night sky where the Moon and Sun could be seen arguing with each other, pausing their debate to observe the moment that made their existence meaningful:

"This is a work of fanfiction, and the author owns nothing! All property referenced belongs to their respective owners!"

Chapter 18

Lucius Malfoy glared balefully at his glass, eyes unwavering in the dimming firelight. Said container was of fine, artfully cut quartz of high quality; an antique perfectly suited to his great manor and his standard of living. The brandy within was delightful too, an expensive vintage aged for more than 150 years and its exquisite taste reflected that.

Both were muggle made.

Both were shaking in his hand.

With a growl the blond aristocrat roughly slammed it down upon the nearby table, and leant back into his armchair – clenching his hands into fists to avoid the post-cruciatus tremors. Slate grey eyes found the crackling embers in the ornate fireplace, trying to gain some solace amongst the ashes. That damn woman; her words had been burning in his mind for days. Everything she had said… and what was worse was that it was all true!

Even now, the Dark Lord would likely still be holding court at the other end of the house, some of the most influential men in their society grovelling at his feet. At the feet of a half-blood. His own blood boiled at the very idea.

And it wasn't even his blood status that was so awful, it was that he had been had! For decades Lucius had been proud to bear the Dark Mark, proud to have done something to defend their society from the mudbloods and blood traitors intent on destroying it. But even that very word… 'blood traitor,' _he_ had invented it to characterise those who stood against them, to demonise and dehumanise them. How many families had been branded as such? How many ancient bloodlines wiped out?

' _With age comes experience_.'

How many mistakes had he made when looking back upon old decisions?

"Argh," the inarticulate snarl of frustration was echoed by a shatter as he cast his glass into the fire, watching the crystal shatter and a blue flame ignite from the spilled alcohol. Standing up from his chair, he glared around at the sitting room with its ornate fixtures and the great tapestry of the Malfoy family tree. This was his home! His family's home; their birth right and seat of power.

It was not a guest house for mudblooded bastards.

"Hoppy!" he called, to clean up the room, having made his decision. A scowl covered his visage upon remembering that ruddy snake had eaten his most recent servant; those bloody things weren't cheap!

With a few flicks of his wand, the fire was doused and the glass reassembled itself and joined its fellows. With determination in his steps, Lucius left in search of quill and ink; he had a letter to write.

##########################################################################

The man once known as Tom Riddle, more commonly referred to by those around him as 'My Lord,' and colloquially named 'You-Know-Who' was in a frustrated form of two minds. On the one hand after so many years as a wraith he had finally regained corporeal form and his position as resident Dark Lord of Britain, with none seemingly the wiser - the Ministry even denying all evidence when presented with it, blaming everything on that incompetent rat – which was actually somewhat insulting, but he'd take the advantage as it came.

However.

On the other hand, nothing quite felt right. In the graveyard he had been expecting a Heroic moron of Dumbledore's making that he could easily slaughter and empower himself with, then going on to reclaim all his former followers. Instead, though the ritual did work, she had proved far more resourceful than expected, and his supporters seemed to be dwindling. Staring out at the crowd of silvery masked minions before what could accurately be called his throne he couldn't help but feel that it seemed thinned.

"Where is Rowle?" he finally asked, stopping his pacing in front of his kneeling subjects. No answer was forthcoming, and he resisted the urge to growl or lash out at one of the assembled – his temper did seem oddly hot of late. Of his faithful, several had seemingly gone missing since he had first summoned them together, every meeting thinner on the ground from his old inner circle he had believed he could rely on to rally around him. Stalking to his seat, the snakelike sorcerer pondered. At this point it could not be denied that something was going on; most likely one of two options. Either someone was targeting his loyal Death Eaters and acting as a vigilante to remove them from the brewing war, or else they were leaving his service willingly and attempting to run as Karkaroff did.

Idly, he casted a crimson eye upwards to glance at the iron cage hanging from the ceiling. The ex-headmaster's corpse was slowly decaying up there, his face caught in a frozen cry of agony. No, his faithful had all returned on the eve of his 'resurrection,' and had subsequently seen how he dealt with traitors – and those who had decried and betrayed his name. He had long since charmed and commanded them; they would not betray him in such numbers.

So that left a deliberate attack upon them. But who would even know to attempt such a thing? Moreover, even to _dare_ assault his men.

Regardless, best to tread carefully and continue with his plan to subtly build up his forces without making his presence obvious. But he would find whoever was doing this, and they would _pay_. After all, one did not earn the title 'Dark Lord' by being kind to one's enemies. Or even one's followers, for that matter; he still had to deal with the risk that his loyal had been captured instead of killed, in which case he needed to turn their brains to mush before they could answer any pertinent questions. Dark Marks were really one of his better ideas.

"Here, Wormtail."

And once he'd dealt with this wrinkle, maybe it was time to send out some missions to probe some of Dumbledore's forces.

##########################################################################

Why did nothing go as it was supposed to?

This was the question that endlessly plagued Albus' mind as he organised items upon his desk. Every plan he made seemingly fell apart in ways he could not have ever expected, and the old man felt he was already losing the war before it had begun. For every step he made, he had to take two steps back, or else his opponents took another four steps for good measure.

Why could people not see the big picture? That the Greater Good was the ideal to strive towards. Why could they not trust in him, as many had done since his battle with Grindelwald? On that fateful day in Germany, as his blasted Reich fell about him, Albus had made a fateful choice; to sacrifice his own desires for the Greater Good that the pair had come up with many years before. It would have been so easy to join with his old lover, to rule the world with an iron fist, but it was not the _right_ thing to do.

And so, he put his own first – and only – love in a prison designed to house Dumbledore himself. Upon his return to Britain, roles had been quickly foisted upon him and it was only through his own reticence that he never became Minister. Albus quickly learned to rise to the challenge, sinking himself into responsibilities to the people; his actions had always been in their interest.

But now they resisted him, challenged him even. Could they not simply trust that he acted in their best interest?

None was this more evident in than Jasmine Potter, the most important weapon in his arsenal stubbornly staying beyond his grasp. Over the years he had tried to sway her, but she was oddly reticent towards him. He was, however, allowing of this likely teenage rebellion; she should receive some happiness or resemblance of a childhood, especially with that awful fate resting over her head.

For she had to die, and at Tom's hand no less; the prophecy was quite clear. And he did wish it did not have to be so, but unfortunately it did.

So, he allowed her some dalliance – granted, he had come very, very close to ruining his legendarily calm demeanour when she blackmailed him of all things, and with that Lockhart business that flooded him with howlers for weeks on end. However, his fears had largely been assuaged in her second year when she went after the Chamber all on her lonesome, defeating Slytherin's monster to save the life of that Weasley girl, and after her dedication to save her innocent godfather – what a legal mess that had been. The worrying incident in first year with Granger's theory was easily categorised a mistake; after all, what did a little first year know about the matter? The lecture he had been forced to give her about leaping to conclusions and the seriousness of accusations had hurt her, he knew.

However, he could no longer afford to be lenient; the time was at hand. Altogether too soon for his liking, but needs must when the Devil drives. This year she would have to fall in line in order to embrace her destiny, doom-filled though it may be.

But first, he would need to set about reconvening the Order; her godfather being his first port of call, he should be able to bring her firmly to the Light.

##########################################################################

 _'I take it all back_ ,' Sirius thought to himself as he gazed upon the sheaves of parchment littering his desk. _'I'd gladly take dull and cooped up over this_.'

He loved his goddaughter unconditionally, despite the fact he barely saw her during the school year, and even the holidays - though he treasured every letter sent, and moment with her. However, he had had his patience severely tested in the time since achieving his legal freedom. The fidelius was still in place on his house - it still wasn't quite a home yet, maybe it never would be - and he had grated at the fact that he could not control that personally. Partially this had been about having to take the women he picked up to hotels rather than back to his abode, but more so was the lack of freedom and feeling cooped-up in the old building, something he distinctly loathed the idea of after more than a decade in a tiny prison cell.

So yes, while he loved his goddaughter, he was also immensely frustrated by her at times. Her platitudes and reticence, always changing the subject when he brought up certain topics - like the Fidelius and her unexplained feelings towards Dumbledore to start - had grated on him at times. She acted somewhat like a figure of authority, which was an idea that the old Marauder was not overly fond of.

Still, he appreciated the strong wards now he knew Voldemort to once more be wandering the Earth, and hadn't that been something that shook his world to the ground.

His mind was on the girl due to all these bits and pieces surrounding him; _'proper prior planning prevents piss poor performance'_ Jasmine had said before giving them to him. And planning it was, across numerous sheets of parchment in neat and ordered script, admittedly with a fair few splodges - more than normal for an experienced quill user, Sirius noted, maybe her pot was leaking? In detail were listed actions, events, things that needed to happen according to her, and fell under his purview. Quite a few required him to get back up in front of the Wizengamot, something he'd avoided since being freed, instead making Andy his representative in the body. _She_ actually enjoyed the politics and the general mess of governing. Women. Mad, the lot of them.

 _'Although_ ,' Sirius mused as he read another piece of parchment, _'they can also be insanely clever_.' Here and there, patterns were emerging he could just make out; plans forming through the actions occurring. And yet, he couldn't help but feel he was missing a lot; like he was looking at one part of a much bigger picture. _'What is your overall plan?_ ' he wondered, a smirking ravenette in his mind's eye. For there was assuredly one, her approach to the Triwizard had certainly shown she was a planner and a plotter.

He sat back while rubbing tired eyes as he wondered if his goddaughter would ever trust him enough to tell him of her plans. Regardless, he would keep trying to reach that state.

##########################################################################

 _The tolling of the two grandfather clocks outside the meeting room was interrupted by the routine clacking of heels upon the hardwood floor, which paused as the door was opened, and swiftly closed after the figure had gained entrance, quickly seating herself near the head of the table. To those who knew of her, the appearance was most definitely off as she was well known to despise tardiness – though of course, she wasn't technically late, having been seated before the chimes finished tolling the hour. Still, that she would cut it that close when normally she was seated long before anyone else was a sign in and of itself._

 _Nothing was said for a precious few seconds before – as usual – the seat at the head of the table was suddenly filled with a cloaked figure._

" _Welcome, all," the figure declared in that authoritative voice that few had ever heard outside of this very room. "Your attendance is appreciated at this short notice to discuss matters of some import." Some of the more intelligent there had thoughts as to their appearance there being very much mandatory; one did not simply refuse the call of the mysterious head of their organization – of whom many present did not even know the name. "There is a threat to our business upon this island. Loathe as I am to put our European expansions on hold, we must concentrate inwards to strengthen our position here."_

##########################################################################

The house of Granger was quiet and still, with nary a stirring from anywhere to be heard. Of course, this was hardly surprising given the time of night; most every sensible person up and down the country would be in bed and asleep. However, in a bedroom upstairs, a light was on, clearly flouting the reasonable restrictions of normality. Therein was contained a young woman - a teen by age, yes, but a woman nonetheless - and she sat up upon her bed, glaring with hatred at one thing:

Her own traitorous, trembling hand.

It hung in the air, seemingly fine before twitching every now and then, or facing an involuntary shake. It made the ravenette's blood boil. Her head snapped around as the door to her room creaked ajar, and a pair of blue eyes peered in.

"You should be asleep," the bushy-haired brunette beyond stated, opening the door fully.

"By that admission, so shouldn't you be?" Jasmine replied after a moment's contemplation.

"I had a hunch to follow up on," Hermione affirmed, stepping inside and carefully closing the noisy door behind her. Jasmine couldn't help but notice her girlfriend's burgeoning form, clad as she was in thin pyjamas; once more emphasised as from the Yule Ball that Hermione was destined to be more 'blessed' than she as far as appearance went. Such thoughts were of course present as said woman slipped under the covers, and wrapped an arm about her as the Ravenclaw shuffled along to make space.

"What would your parents think of this, I wonder?" she mused aloud.

"I imagine they would think us hormonal teenagers," Hermione responded with a slight smile that quickly grew more serious, "and don't try to draw conversation into a different alley; I saw you." The brunette clearly struggled for words for a moment, debating approaches no doubt. "You can't beat yourself up over this; you could never have anticipated what happened, nor the consequences, you can only try to work past them." The words were accompanied by a squeeze from the warm arm about her shoulders.

"It's not this," Jasmine replied, gesticulating with the offending limb, "it's what it embodies; failure." Emerald eyes once more gazed upon ashen skin with pure disdain. "It represents my failure to anticipate events, it represents my failure to concentrate on what was important instead of getting caught up in games and frivolities, it represents... arrogance." The last word was all but growled. "I do not fail, I do not lose, but in winning I became confident, I became cocky. This, this is a consequence - no, a reminder."

"No-one is infallible, Jasmine," Hermione whispered softly, comfortingly.

"No, but that's not the same thing. I've faced setbacks before, problems and issues, of course I have. But I have worked past them, I have always been assured of victory eventually, I could always trust in my own mind, my own two hands!" With a deflated sigh, she turned the pale limb over. "Now look at them. I can't hold a wand without fear of a flick the wrong way upsetting every spell; I'm going to have to learn point casting just to keep up this year!"

"Then that's what you do - no, what we do," emerald met sapphire at the impassioned proclamation, "in your words, we treat it as a setback and work forwards, and yes Jasmine Potter, I will keep saying 'we' until you get it into your head that we are in this together."

"I thought I was supposed to be the closet romantic," she deadpanned in reply, before giving a grin and laying a kiss upon the woman's forehead as she drew her closer. The smile did not reach her eyes, however. _'No more games_ ,' were the resolute words that echoed through her mind.

##########################################################################

Waking up next to another warm body was a new experience for Jasmine, albeit a not-unwelcome one. Indeed feeling Hermione's bosom pressed into her back was quite pleasant, as was the pleasant heat of sharing her bed with another. Of course, the shifting behind her was also what had woken the ravenette.

"Good morning," the woman said quietly with a yawn taking over from anything further she might have said.

"And to you," Hermione replied, giving a squeezing hug with arms that were surprisingly already wrapped around her, "and Happy Birthday." Jasmine blinked at that, having practically forgotten the date; today was the 31st of July. "Accio." The Ravenclaw turned to see a small blue wrapped package float over from where it had sat upon the dresser - feeling a slight bit of pride at her girlfriend's aptitude for wandless magic, experimented with after her defeat upon the duelling stand. "I was going to leave this at the door if you were asleep, but as is..."

The ravenette smiled, twisting about under the covers to face her girlfriend and the present in her hands. With care, she took it and slowly undid the spellotape perfectly securing the paper from behind, savouring the Gryffindor's impatience. When finally the paper was unfolded, two long and thin leather chords were revealed, each with a silver item at the base.

"Pendants?" Jasmine queried, picking one up to study the jewellery at the bottom. It seemed to be a rounded cylinder, but on closer inspection it was made of several separate rings that appeared to twist around, and each had a small rune engraved and outlined in black.

"Remember that crystal you gave me at Christmas?" Hermione queried with a smile, "I did some experimenting with it, and what you did at the second task gave me some thoughts about sympathetic magic and the Protean charm. After what happened at the end of term I made these; there's a piece of crystal in each. When one moves," Hermione picked up the second pendant and turned one of the rings with a barely audible click, so too did the one in Jasmine's hand move. "and it's so low level as to be practically undetectable, until..." a few more twists brought each ring's rune to line up and glow slightly, and Jasmine could feel her own warm up in response. "Aligns to make an array that strengthens the link; should be enough of a connection to apparate through or at least track if there's anti-apparition wards up."

"For emergencies," Jasmine concluded, not visibly reacting to the idea.

"Basically," the brunette placed down the other pendant and rubbed the back of her head, "at the Third Task... I've never been more terrified; you were gone for hours, and no-one had any idea where you were or if you were even still alive. I can't…"

"Look at me," Jasmine demanded, tapping the other teen's chin. "You're not getting rid of me that easily," she completed with a smile, looping the leather about her slender neck.

#############################################################################

The rain splattered and ran off Jasmine's umbrella in sheets and torrents as she waited under a spluttering street lamp, deep in the warren of London's backstreets. Outwardly she didn't react at the faint crack of apparition from nearby, the sunglasses so out of place in the dead of night obscuring any emotion her face might have given away as the nondescript blonde woman approached. For a long moment that dragged out, the pair merely regarded each other – Jasmine's glamours and smart, expensive clothing compared to the other woman's more simplistic garb designed to slip into the background.

"You have the information?" the ravenette eventually spoke.

"You got the gold?" the blonde immediately shot back.

"You wound me," a small pouch was pulled from a coat pocket - magically expanded to hold a large sum of coins, of course. It was quickly swapped for a sheaf of parchment, which Jasmine swiftly scanned, examining the names and where each person could be found. The other woman made to turn leave before pausing.

"You do realise what you're asking for, right?"

"I would not have asked if I did not," she replied, eyebrow raised.

"It's just… most of those people go to a lot of trouble not to be found, to not even exist. And most of 'em have a screw or two loose; Dark Magics can do that to you."

"I am fully aware of what they are capable of; it is for this knowledge I wish to contact them. I assure you I can handle myself, though your concern is noted."

"I make it a point to try and keep my customers alive, and you haven't tried to screw me over yet. So, y'know, try not to die."

##########################################################################

"Rook to E4, checkmate," the ravenette enounced clearly, the black piece in question sliding across the board without her touching it.

"Well played indeed," her opponent drawled, leaning back to stare at her with those unsettling, piercing eyes that never blinked enough, "are you sure you would not care for another?"

"No thank-you; I am quite attached to my limbs, and have no desire to gamble them more often than necessary," she replied simply. A flash of sharp teeth answered her.

"Spoilsport. I will one day get to taste your flesh, though," his grin was too wide, and his teeth sharp and white. Jasmine knew not what ancestry he had - although she had her suspects that it was fey in origin - only that it was not entirely human, and he had an odd predilection towards cannibalism. "Your books are in the box over there," he continued with a lazy gesture towards a box that had not been there a moment before, "for the required payment, of course."

"Of course. One quart of unicorn blood, freshly drawn."

##########################################################################

"They are really gunning for him, aren't they?" Jasmine muttered, putting down a sheaf of parchment in favour of sipping her tea.

"Fudge has got it into his head that Dumbledore is after his position as Minister, and his entourage is only encouraging him – since they stand a better chance of power through him if the man is not advising anymore," Amelia replied from her position in a wing backed chair across the coffee table. The woman looked tired – hardly surprising given the activity in the DMLE of late, and the day's Wizengamot session earlier turning into a huge event as Fudge moved to get rid of Dumbledore following his campaign to convince the world of Voldemort's return.

"It certainly accelerated our plans to put forward Diggory into place, he'll make a far better compromise in wartime; you've briefed him, presumably?"

"Yes, he's aware of what's coming and what he'll be taking on. Opinion of him was favourable amongst those I spoke with, as well."

"Good, everything is nearly in place then," Jasmine leant back contemplatively, staring into the ornate fireplace of Bones Manor's drawing room. "Though the DME reform curveball was not something I anticipated. The question is whether we can afford to use the time and political capital to devote to dealing with it, or whether we must let it go ahead."

"I think it best to choose our battles wisely," the older woman said knowingly – now long since used to treating the teenager with respect and as an equal, "besides, some of this reform could actually do some good. My main worry is who they will send in to replace any inadequate instructors."

"Well, one more incompetent professor won't make that great of a difference; what's the worst that can happen?"

##########################################################################

With a grunt, Jasmine settled herself into a chair within the sealed compartment behind her London office. With frustration her lightly blood splattered coat was thrown across the floor, a slight shimmer fading as her bodily proportions returned to their natural state.

"Is the whole bloody world filled with incompetents?" the ravenette all but growled while rubbing tired eyes under her customary aviators. It had taken a fair while's combing the woods around Little Hangleton to find the old Gaunt residence with its very well hidden ward set. Of course knowing Voldemort as she did Jasmine came prepared to break into a secure location – four curse breakers from Gringotts' ranks to do the job, an emergency portkey for herself, and a fair few potions for all occasions for what might go wrong.

The first dunderhead – as Snape would have labelled him – triggered a flesh-stripping ward, requiring a stasis charm to be placed on him immediately before he died a painful death.

After they spent hours carefully bringing down the wards, number two got bitten by one of the highly venomous snakes that swarmed the group. He got a general-purpose antitoxin, and another stasis charm, and they were down to three before even reaching the doorway of the heavily dilapidated shack.

Going very carefully inside, and avoiding various traps embedded in the floor and walls, they managed to locate a sealed compartment beneath a floorboard. Number three knelt down to open it slowly while number four crouched behind with her wand trained on the space. As soon as the board was up, they both froze at whatever was within, and Jasmine saw a dozen and one emotions flit through their eyes – surprise, interest, greed, desire, etcetera. Number three reached for the contents, but his co-worker moved quicker, shifting her wand to blast said man point blank in the back of the head with a nasty piercing hex, before reaching for the interior herself.

Jasmine had watched incredulously as within a miniscule timeframe the woman went from tentatively anxious, to murdering her co-worker, to finally giving an ear-splitting screech of pain as she clutched a rapidly darkening and shrivelling arm – a particularly strong withering curse being the culprit, by the looks. Rather than risk problems from the now deranged woman, the Ravenclaw had just sent her own piercer through her chest – leaving only time for the ex-curse breaker to register a look of confusion and surprise before toppling over backwards, still shrivelling to become a blackened corpse as she went.

Given the very obvious warning of compulsion charms, and time to prepare and steel her mind, Jasmine was able to push past the very powerful enchantments – which tested even her iron will with their whisperings - to find the contents, and remove it into a safe container. Of course, the mission being a success didn't make her any less pissed off at the situation. A little of that anger had been relieved by removing the two still-living curse breakers from the equation – with them in that shape, it was far easier to do so rather than spend time having them constantly watched to become conscious again and only _then_ memory charm them, not to mention infinitely more satisfying. Of course, that still meant she had to barter with Gringotts over loss of personnel.

"All over this," the ravenette muttered, pulling a glass case into her palms. About the size and shape of a book, the glass shimmered in the light with engraved runes along each edge, reinforced in each corner with metal. Hanging within, perfectly still and not touching the sides was a chunky, gaudy golden ring with a black stone inset. The whole piece of jewellery positively reeked of dark magic when outside the container, stronger than anything she had seen before now. What was it exactly?

The most complex identifying charms she knew had revealed only the school of magic: Necromancy. And considering how familiar the symbol atop it was to certain legends Jasmine had researched after receiving her cloak…

She needed this identified and verified by an expert opinion. Maybe it was time to follow some of those leads trying to discover more about Voldemort's repeated refusal to just bloody die.

##########################################################################

The Wizengamot - despite being an august and ancient body - was an unruly one for sure. It was not until several minutes after the most recent meeting was due to start was an actual quiet reached and brought to order. About the huge room, old men sat upon worn seats that had held up their fat buttocks for decades, and their ancestor's before them. Being below the age at which a head of house should technically ascend to position, Jasmine was of course the youngest there, but by a wider margin than could exist; the next youngest was in fact the head of House Hawthorn at 23 - a relatively minor house that was cadet to the Lestrange family, so he was only there by default as the head of that house sat in Azkaban with his wife. This room was full of the complacent and the conservative; those stuck in their ways and resistant to change or any threat to their way of life.

Time to shake things up.

"I have a declaration to make," Jasmine announced upon standing, feeling the eyes of all present turn to her; the young and quickly rising figure of the Girl-Who-Lived, already head of her own house and heir to the powerful Black line. "By the ancient rites of combat, I have defeated mine enemy thrice when he sought to end my life. As he claimed himself vassal to an Ancient and Noble line, I have claimed said house as my own," she held aloft a hand upon which now rested three items of jewellery: her head of House ring for the Potters, a surprisingly ornate and chunky gold ring with the family crest upon it; a much more simple, unmarked black obsidian band that signified her as heir to the house of Black; and finally a delicate piece comprised of two silver snakes wrapped about each other, coming together to grasp an emerald within their jaws that seemingly shivered with an inner light. "As head of the Ancient and Noble house of Slytherin, I do hereby lay claim to its seats upon the Wizengamot as is my right!"

 **A/N: And there we have it. Finally. You have no idea how difficult this was to write; both generally as a chapter, and also as I really got very rusty in the time I abandoned writing to focus on my exams. It didn't help that reading back through this I've come to dislike many aspects of the story and the loose plot-threads all over the place. The show ain't over, mind you, just that I'm not as invested as I once was, and updates will be slow comin' - nothing like the weekly or fortnightly schedule I kept up at the start.**

 **However I must emphasise this: I really am sorry, I know this is many, many months after I promised it. I feel horrible for the delay, but this just simply wouldn't come and I was constantly rewriting what I did have when it just didn't meet decent standards. It's taken me months to be able to write anything in a decent sitting, and I'm still struggling for time, enthusiasm and inspiration – turns out a full time job, moving to a city, and continued health problems are huge drains on your life; who knew?**

 **Also, I would like to give massive, massive thanks to the heartfelt reviews – especially when I put this on hold for my exams. I really did not expect the outpouring of support (to be honest, I expected anger) and I cannot express how much your words meant to me.**

 **Finally (god my A/N's are getting longer and longer…) I would like to give a shout-out to 'the stargate time traveller' and 'ShadowedFire66' who are both making their own forays into Moriarty Fem!Harry stories (apparently I started something vaguely fashionable? Huh.) The former has already posted two shorts for perusal, and the latter is in-process thereof. So, keep your eyes peeled ladies and gents.**

 **Okay, that's finally it. Prof out.**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Well, here goes nothing. Hopefully this one won't take quite as long to finish as the last one did.**

 **And I typed those words however many months ago… admittedly, in that time I've been forced to switch laptops permanently and I've now (in July) gotten around to getting Office installed so I can write outside of snippets in emails. I will say, I really like Word 2016's synonym ability on right-click.**

 **Also, I'm slightly retroactively changing something there may be some misconception about – I called Jasmine's skin porcelain, and I think I went a bit too far into making her look like a vampire. I'm changing that to she's just pale like someone who never gets any sunlight, not corpse-like.**

 **Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING, ALL PROPERTIES REFERENCED BELONG TO THEIR RESPECTIVE OWNERS**

Chapter 19

Several Weeks Ago

 _The depths of Gringotts were shrouded in shadow, and the cave systems more rough-hewn than their equivalents closer to the surface. The flickering torches held aloft by the guarding goblins accompanying Jasmine and an elder goblin named Grimstoke were the only exterior light source, and they sent dancing silhouettes through the gloom as they progressed through the unfathomable depths of the earth._

 _Nothing was said, the conversation had already been held in the high Goblin's office; he had been understandably stunned when she laid claim to accessing the Slytherin vault, deep beneath Gringotts that predated even the rebellion that formed the Bank - from times back when the Gringotts clan was small, and not yet the strongest in Europe. It had taken some explaining, and proof of her lucky heritage on her mother's side, before her claim could even be considered, and even then she'd had to pay a not-insubstantial sum of debts that the Gaunts had racked up, with interest (which was to be partially filled by the theft of several Goblin artefacts from Wizards and their return to Gringotts). Even then, the Goblin had been reluctant to open up the ancient vault, especially since it was thought to be empty._

 _However, there was more to value than mere gold._

 _Finally, after what seemed like an age of walking, they stopped by an entrance in the side of the cave wall, blocked by a tall and barred metal door – of far newer construction than the tunnel or anything that should be here, Jasmine noted, therefore likely meaning it was a measure added once the line was declared extinct. As the two guards took up positions on either side of the entryway, Grimstoke stepped up to the fore and laid both hands on one of the riveted bars across the wide entryway._

 _After a long few moments that dragged on, there came a loud thunking noise, followed by a series of smaller clicks as locks undid themselves. The goblin stepped back as slowly, but without so much as a creak, the door split down the middle and opened outwards to reveal another surface._

 _The stone cutting across the entryway was slate grey – clearly not quite native to the cave – and perfectly smooth as only magic could create. Directly in the centre was a metal plaque, bearing a stylised 'S' made from a green serpent at the centre of a shield. This was more as Jasmine expected from a vault that dated back to when Gringotts was just a clan, not yet a bank; a wizard made defence. She felt expectant eyes on her as she stepped forwards, laying a hand on the crest to trace the metal scales lightly with her finger, focusing on the snake._

" _Open," she hissed as quietly as she could, communicating directly with the snake. A shimmer seemed to run along its surface before the whole panel began to shift upwards with a loud grinding noise. In its wake, the perfectly smooth stone shifted and began to first trickle, then ripple, and finally to gush like liquid as it spilled to the side, forming an emphasised archway that distinctly reminded the ravenette of Hogwarts' own architecture. A fairly simple protection, but one as proof of the bloodline._

 _With confidence, she stepped through into the fairly large cave beyond, flicking her wand into hand and invoking a ball of light to hover near the encroaching ceiling to reveal a whole lot of…_

 _Nothing. Or at least, near enough._

 _A few ancient stone bookshelves stood empty, nearby a similar desk and two broken chairs that had clearly seen better days, and an empty painting frame with peeling gold leaf that showed more faded wood than gold. It wasn't like she had expected much – the Gaunts had lived in a shack, if they could have stripped anything of value from here they would have – but it still seemed like so very little to show for some ancient and illustrious history._

 _Ah well, she wasn't here for that, and her emerald eyes had snapped to the far side of the space. There, another wall stood, similar to the first, but instead of a shield bore a statue-like snarling head of a giant snake, oversized fangs poised to strike. With a slight smile on her face at appreciating her information was correct, she stepped towards the other side._

 _Slytherin House had not had a member bear its name – aside from in boasts – since Salazar himself. The Gaunt family, for all their posturing, were much like the earliest forms of cadet families in the young days of Britain; they signed their family's entire control over to the Slytherin line – to Salazar's uncle, as it happens – in part of a marriage contract that saw the man's daughter wed off to them. In the Gaunts' eyes, they had entered into a family with a great deal of wealth and knowledge, for the time period, as well as containing one of the founders of the then brand-new, but rapidly expanding Hogwarts. It only got better for them when the Slytherin family had no heirs after Salazar pulled a disappearing act, and thereby they were their own masters._

 _However, all the agreements made in blood and written vows still held true, and the Gaunts could never control the Slytherin line – and being a family that would forevermore be synonymous with sneakiness and cunning, they put more than just words on paper to stop their greedy in-laws from nabbing that which wasn't theirs._

 _Hence, a vault within a vault, made by one of the last family patriarchs, and that was still sealed hundreds of years later._

 _On approach, the snake-head was even more impressive up close, jutting out from the wall a good two feet, and seemingly made from porcelain instead of stone or metal, with incredible detail from the green scales outline on its back to the forked red tongue. In-fact, Jasmine leaned in closer and her eyes sparked in understanding as she noted the tongue was stained red at the tip, while the further back was pink. Given that the sharp fangs were close by and so widely exaggerated, the method of entry was likely blood-bound._

 _Regardless, it provided exactly what she needed. Removing her glove, she placed her fingers upon the old bloodstain, closed her eyes and concentrated, pushed a little of her magic into her fingertips, before clearing her throat and speaking._

" _By the moste ancient rites of conquest, I do hereby lay claim to the Slytherin name," a shudder ran through Jasmine's form as suddenly magic began to thrum in the air, "I hath defeated mine enemy thrice: he who has initiated feud with my family and killed mine kin; he who has sought to end me in the name of Slytherin; he who has called himself vassal to Slytherin's line. By my blood, by my magic, and by my victory, I so proclaim the Slytherin name as my own by ancient decree!"_

 _Power swirled in the air as the magics she had called upon judged her – this was older magic than most anyone knew, from the earliest formations of society. Deep Magic, written in the very fabric of the world. It pressed down on her oppressively, with an electric thrum running across her skin._

 _And then… it was gone as suddenly as it had come._

 _The raven-haired woman grinned widely, emerald eyes sparkling as a flick of her un-gloved hand moved up to prick a finger upon the awaiting fang, and smeared the welling crimson on the forked tongue. With a grinding similar to the outer door, the head slid upwards and the archway formed from transmuting stone._

 _As she stepped beyond, green light flared from sconces formed of rearing stone snakes lining the walls, which reminded her of the similarly ostentatious light sources in the Chamber of Secrets. The space was smaller than the previous cave, more office-sized really, but it contained much more in terms of value. Wooden shelves – that were somehow still pristine – held aloft scrolls, and a rare few simple books bound in leather without titles upon their spines, an intricate stone basin similar to a baptismal font reared up from the floor, and upon the wall was a set of blades crossed beneath the family crest. Although, there were signs that this place too had been emptied; the shelves had much vacant space, there were more brackets on the wall for holding specific items that were missing, and a bust with an indent for what looked like a necklace stood bare by the archway. Most likely, the Hogwarts founder had cleared out the things he had needed before he did a runner to wherever he went._

 _All of this mattered not to Jasmine, as she focused in on the dark wood desk, and more importantly the stone box atop it inlaid with runes, almost feeling its call to her. Before she knew it, her hands were grasping and opening up the container – oh so similar to one she had found in the Potter vault, bound to the family ring to be where it would return to after the previous owner had died. And there it was, an emerald caught in the jaws of two silver snakes wrapped into a band. Nimble fingers picked it up, turning the cold jewellery over and viewing the fine craftmanship – Goblin, of course. Once in her hand, the gemstone seemed to light up with a slight spark, and with a twist of magic the ring shrunk slightly to fit her thin fingers instead of a man's._

 _Triumphantly, the ring was slipped on beside its two fellows, perfectly conforming around her finger._

" _Tommy boy, you really should have paid attention to the school motto," the ravenette murmured with a grin._

##############################################################################

Current Day

Children. A room full of adults supposedly responsible for Wizarding Britain shouting over each other in an unruly fashion. Jasmine simply stood calmly as accusations were thrown at her, thrown back by her supporters and an all-around mess occurred as she simply withdrew her hand from the air, and folded both demurely in front of herself, projecting the aloofness expected of her position. Down in the public stands, the few journalists present at what should have been a routine session scrabbled fiercely at pads of paper and a camera flash or two was directed at her.

When a cannon blast from Diggory – the man still only at his second meeting as Chief Warlock – failed to quell the crowd, a blanket silencing charm was cast to finally quiet the area. His disapproving glare was levelled at the various assembled members, which the ravenette weathered without care.

"If you are all _quite_ finished. I think an explanation is due, Miss Potter," the man stated upon removing the charm.

"I don't believe there is anything more to say, Chief Warlock," the ravenette said calmly, "the ancient magics accepted my claim through rites of conquest, and the family ring has acknowledged me as the new matriarch. By all measures I now control the House, along with all that comes with it, and in the next generation it shall pass as cadet to my own birth House as per procedure unless I name an heir. There is no legal or historical precedent to deny me the seats it commands on the Wizengamot – for both the Ancient and Noble House of Slytherin itself, and the Ancient House of Gaunt." Of course, there was no precedent for the Slytherin seat being in use at _all_. The four founders had originally been on the Wizards' Council long before the Wizengamot was formed, and since two lines – Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, held by the McLaggens and the Smiths, respectively – were still active, all four were kept for posterity's sake and to honour the legendary witches and wizards.

"Objection!" the old and overweight figure of Thaddeus Nott stood, "this is outrageous! The very idea of claiming a long dormant line of the noblest pedigree by some lying girl. I demand a free vote on this matter!" A collection of agreeing noises sounded from various sides of the Dark sect.

"Motion seconded," Minister Fudge himself rose from his seat above Diggory, his face purpled and spluttering, "Miss Potter has been purporting many dubious and questionable things of late, as has recently become known." That sparked off a good deal of shouting from her own supporters, met by Fudge's cronies and their own jeers. Said topic was a sore one, as his little Prophet mouthpiece had been carefully bad-mouthing her since the start of the summer, and only really getting away with things by merely suggesting ideas, conveying 'rumours,' or blaming things on Dumbledore's influence. Oh, how she wished the libel laws in the wizarding world weren't so loose.

"There's nothing to vote on," a grinning Sirius Black stood from his position close by Nott, shouting over the growing noise, "any changes to position – such as naming a new heir or seceding a seat to another – is regarded as internal House business and is not subject to Wizengamot approval. Only when someone new is presented to the Wizengamot as ascending to their position is approval needed over whether or not they are a suitable candidate. The only rules on the book state that the Wizengamot must be informed of any changes of status with due notice of declaration, which Madame Potter has done. Are we to now interfere in who our heirs are or other internal family affairs? I stand with the House of Potter." The formal words were followed with a cheeky thumbs-up thrown at her from the old Marauder.

##############################################################################

One Week Ago

" _How the hell did you pull that off?" Sirius stated, staring in wonderment at the ring on her finger._

" _Ancient rites of conquest," she answered with a smile, "I beat him three times, fair and square."_

" _Bloody hell. You stole Slytherin," the man still looked bewildered, running a hand through scraggly hair._

" _Well, you did tell me you were disappointed at how I didn't pull pranks. How do you think the Slytherins are going to take this?" the ravenette wiggled the ring in front of her face with a grin. That finally pulled the Marauder from melancholy and into bouts of laughter._

" _Okay, okay," he said upon calming, "what's the plan? And don't try to deny there is one."_

##############################################################################

Sirius' words stirred murmurs from many areas, especially the traditionalist ones who long feared interference in their affairs. Quickly they returned to a back-and-forth between her detractors and those who supported the decision, however this time the cannon-blast from Diggory's wand managed to silence the crowd as he conferred quietly with an aide flicking through a book to his left before standing to his podium.

"I am inclined to agree with the claimant and the Head of House Black in this regard; there exists much precedent for the absorption of a House, and it has never been a matter for debate in the Wizengamot," he announced, "the claim of the House of Potter is hereby acknowledged."

"Thank-you, Chief Warlock," Jasmine stated, bowing ever so slightly towards the man through the shouting that had ensued, even as two crests joined those already decorating her podium.

##############################################################################

Five Days Ago

" _I'm somewhat starting to regret saying yes when Amelia approached me with the idea of this position," Amos admitted as he signed something on his desk, "the paperwork alone is a nightmare!"_

" _I never thought I'd hear of a fine Hufflepuff afraid of a bit of hard work," Jasmine commented from her position opposite with a smile. He dignified that with a look as his only response._

" _What was your reason for wishing to see me? Thanks to you, I have a very large amount of work to do. I will never understand how Dumbledore managed so many positions," the latter part was added in a mumble the ravenette probably wasn't supposed to hear. '_ By being lax and hands off in all of them, despite the fact each should require full attention _,' Jasmine answered in her own head._

" _I'm going to make a proposal this weekend," she replied aloud, "and I might need a hand persuading Amelia to take up the position."_

" _Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?" Diggory stated, paperwork forgotten as he looked at her over his glasses._

" _Most likely the answer is 'sort of,'" she replied nonchalantly, "look at it on the bright side, you get to return the paperwork hell back on her, with interest."_

##############################################################################

"Are there any further matters before we finish for the day?" Diggory declared after the main session regarding a piece of legislature in regard to cauldron bottoms had been debated. "If not, the Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter has requested the floor."

"Thank-you, Chief Warlock," the ravenette stated upon standing up, "I must bring a matter to the court of some urgency. I wish to petition for the aid of the Ministry in dealing with a rogue member of one of the Houses I am responsible for." She was very careful to keep her face solemn as she prepared to lay each card down. "I am of the opinion that a House should be responsible for its own members and their mistakes, and this is a rabid dog I should put down myself. However, I am admittedly having some degree of trouble in this regard as he is a dangerous individual." She paused, gauging the mood of the crowd, "I have already given Madame Bones a full list of the offences he has committed, and his crimes include, but are not limited to: repeated use of all three unforgivable curses; kidnapping and abduction of the Heir to an Ancient and Noble House; keeping of a Class 5X Beast with intent to set it loose; theft and destruction of priceless heirlooms; and unlicensed use of memory charms. As he is such a dangerous individual, I am requesting that the aurors be given leave to hunt him down and kill him, and anyone who stands with him, on sight. The House of Potter is willing to cover any greater-than-normal expenditures from any actions necessary."

"I can confirm," Amelia stated, standing up as well, "the list of crimes given to me signify this is a most dangerous individual who would at least be sentenced to life in Azkaban or thrown through the Veil, and as such I feel no compunction agreeing with Miss Potter's assessment."

"Could you identify this man for the court, please?" Diggory asked, adding his part of the rehearsed play to the mix.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," Jasmine answered after a brief pause, watching the crowd carefully. The bulging of Malfoy's eyes was particularly amusing, though Dumbledore didn't react so much more than stroking his beard thoughtfully – he had likely guessed exactly of whom she spoke from the beginning.

"I second the House of Potter's proposal," Augusta Longbottom stood from her position beside the ravenette, "any such threat should be eliminated from society with all due haste."

"Motion has been seconded," Diggory declared, "all those in favour." The swarm of white lights from the Lighter sects stood as she, Augusta and even Dumbledore, surprisingly, led the crowd. Likewise, Amelia led her own allies, and Sirius what contacts he – or, more reasonably, Andromeda – had scrounged from the traditionalists. "And those against?" Red lights from Malfoy and his patsies and some other darker leaning members of society, as well as Fudge and his hard-core supporters, probably simply to be contrary to her. A surprising number of neutrals abstained, which ultimately pushed the landslide towards… "Motion passed!" Amos stated, "special clearance shall be given for measures to be taken against the individual Tom Riddle."

"Thank-you," the ravenette allowed a slight smile to grace her features, "and now that the Ministry is acknowledging the threat that Tom Riddle, more colloquially known by the pseudonym Lord Voldemort, presents, and thereby a state of war has been declared, I hereby propose that the head of the DMLE be given all due emergency powers as per wartime procedure."

Anything further she might have said was drowned out by the ensuing uproar.

##############################################################################

Three Days Ago

" _You know," Amelia said tiredly as she removed and cleaned her monocle, "I've been thinking of retiring for the last few years. Only Susan starting at Hogwarts stopped me, as I wasn't sure what I would do with myself during the day with her gone. I'd wait until she leaves school, I told myself."_

" _You must have known where this was leading when I told you the truth about his return," Jasmine stated, "wartime measures are on the books and make things clear about chain of command."_

" _I think I managed to delude myself into just not thinking about it," the woman admitted, "I'm getting old. I'm not sure how much more of this I can deal with."_

" _Bullshit," Amos stated simply, "I know you, Amelia, and you're built to handle whatever is thrown at you. Besides, who else would you entrust this to? Most of your best are either dead, unsuitable, or need more experience. Moody is probably the only one competent and experienced enough, and his nickname has become a bit too apt these last few years."_

" _First thing I'm doing is drafting him back out of retirement; I'll need a good second."_

" _So, you're in, then?" Amos nudged._

" _Yes," Bones replied wearily, replacing her eyepiece, "however when I die of stress, I'm going to haunt the pair of you."_

##############################################################################

Jasmine yawned while rubbing her aching head while preparing for bed. It had been a long day following her pronouncement the day before at the Wizengamot. Irene Adler had been at the Diagon Gazette the previous night, to ensure it disseminated accurate information on Voldemort's true identity – and more importantly, his heritage – which had led to a few more dissenters needing to be put in stasis where Voldemort couldn't turn them into vegetables via their Dark Marks. Jasmine Potter was required on several fronts to deal with political and legal situations as Amelia was gifted her emergency powers, as well as refuting what the Ministry mouthpiece that was the Daily Prophet was writing about her – which was predictable rubbish – and generally preparing the country for an upcoming state of war. Planning various activities out with Greyback and Scabior, as well as sending out orders to various underlings regarding everything from supplies to safehouses, then using a time turner to run the day again to hint and nudge Amelia, Amos, Sirius, and Augusta on the other political side, all added to a severely exhausting time that meant she hadn't slept in well over 48 hours.

None of this was helped by the incessant headache pressing in on her, even as she rubbed at her scarred forehead with irritation.

Still, the hour was late – or at least, she thought it was, but everything could get a bit muddled with time travel – and her nice soft bed within Grimmauld, which she so rarely visited, beckoned cajolingly as she collapsed onto it, prepared finally to get some blessed rest.

As she was just on the edge of sleep, and so very exhausted, it took several moments for the heat in – or more accurately, on – her chest to be noticed. Even her abnormally powerful mind was slow in realising what it was before she snapped back up, a hand grasping at the pendant that was lightly glowing and warm to the touch.

Her body leapt into motion, exhaustion forgotten as she grabbed the holly wand resting beside her bed, concentrated on the link the pendant provided, and apparated away.

The first thing she noticed on arrival was the cold; goose bumps instantly appearing over her skin that was clad in only a thin, silk nightgown. She spun on the spot, her brain instantly taking in and cataloguing the environment of a cellar, the recognisable Doctors Granger huddled behind their daughter as she pointed her wand towards the exit to the room, an otter patronus flying around even as the wooden portal frosted over with ice.

"Dementors, here?" the ravenette said incredulously.

"Two of them, upstairs," Hermione replied with anger evident in her voice. "Might I suggest getting my parents out of here be more of a priority than lengthy explanations?"

"Point," Jasmine admitted, summoning a length of garden hose from nearby to wrap around the pair. They started with protestations at realising the loop didn't include the two of them, but she didn't give them time to do anything about it. "Portus," both adults disappeared, leaving just the teenagers, "they're safe at Sirius'."

"Then let's deal with the bastards that got into my home!" the bushy-haired girl practically hissed.

Jasmine sent an unlocking charm at the door, and then brought up her own patronus as scabby hands reached around and were batted back by the otter and raven leaping for them, teeth bared and claws outstretched, respectively. The ravenette frowned a little as she had to push a bit harder than she ever remembered doing so to get the magic out. They quickly advanced forwards up the stairs, pressing the advantage. Swiftly, the pair of hell spawn gave up, and fled through open French windows past a dining table set with a half-eaten meal. The pair still swept the room carefully, Hermione flicking her wand to close the large glass doors. Roughly thirty seconds of closing windows and being on edge passed before they managed to relax, confident that the Dementors were not returning.

"Thank-you for coming so quickly, Jasmine," Hermione stated quietly while surveying the dinner that was slowly defrosting from the thin sheen of ice, "with my parents around, I couldn't- oh." A slight blush lit her face as she turned around to face the ravenette.

"What?" Jasmine asked confusedly.

"Your, ah, headlights are on," the Gryffindor said with a slight, wry grin. Glancing down, Jasmine did indeed note that was the case.

"Yes, well, I picked this nightie for the height of summer, not for fighting soul-sucking demons in," she replied with a slightly sardonic smile.

"It looks good on you."

She was about to formulate a reply – which was doubtless going to be witty and of decisive character – when her lips were captured, and a warm body pressed against her. When they pulled back for air, Jasmine couldn't quite help the smirk that graced her lips, and her mind flicked back to something she had read about how high-stress situations often left someone with certain feelings as an after-effect of the fight or flight response. That didn't stop her from taking advantage of her girlfriend's suddenly amorous mood by drawing her close by the small of her back.

"Remind me to buy a few more, then," she said softly.

"God I've missed you." Indeed, Jasmine too had felt the separation in the two, nearly three weeks, regardless of how busy she had been.

"Well," the ravenette began, before stopping as she noticed the bird furiously tapping on a closed window. Grimacing, she extricated from their embrace and moved over to let it in. "I think we'll be seeing a lot more of each other soon." As soon as the bird was released it headed straight for Hermione, depositing a letter with a wax seal in her hands. "I need to call Ted."

##############################################################################

"I'll admit, I was surprised to receive your missive; I can't say I have had any contact with this office before. I have a very busy schedule, but I made time regardless," the ravenette chose her words carefully, bringing the tea cup to her lips slowly.

"It's appreciated," her companion said with a simpering smile, "I wished to talk about, well, I couldn't help but hear about this business involving a… Miss Granger, wasn't it? A close friend of yours."

"That is correct," she replied simply, fingers tightening to whiten her skin around the cup.

"I was speaking with the Minister on the subject yesterday. The Ministry must of course be harsh on those offenders who endanger the Statute of Secrecy, especially since as a muggleborn… she poses a significant threat given the time she will spend associating with the muggles," he leaned back, sipping his own tea, "of course, I'm sure it's really just a misunderstanding and perhaps it could be dealt with more simply. Perhaps, were-."

"If I were to publicly retract my opinions on Voldemort and lend political support to your dear friend the Minister, yes, yes, I'm _sure_ it could all be swept under the carpet," Jasmine interrupted in a derisive tone of voice as she set down her cup, the liquid within untouched. "Don't try to play games with me. Just because I look young doesn't mean I am a moron, and the same cannot be said for you."

"Now-I, see here," the man spluttered in a surprised manner as the meeting clearly went awry from how he had planned it.

"No, you shut up and listen because I do not have the patience to deal with pandering little lickspittles all day. I am a very busy woman, and this meeting is taking enough of my time as is - let alone dealing with this circus Fudge is cooking up," she all but growled, emerald eyes flashing as she allowed her anger to show, "and because I know you will be reporting to him after this meeting, I want you to listen to my words very, very carefully and repeat them back to him verbatim – if that is within your meagre brain capacity. I was prepared to let him go, to let him be shuffled off to the side with no hard feelings; his only crime was being incompetent, and I could hardly hold that against him, especially since it was so easily dealt with by putting Amelia into place. Frankly, on the larger scale of things, he's small fry and not worth my time. But no, he couldn't go down quietly, with some shred of dignity, he just had to come after me by trying to get to someone close to me in the most unsubtle and stupid manner possible." She held up a hand as he made to object, " _don't_ talk, I can feel my brain cells committing suicide every time you open your mouth. No, you go back to Fudge with your tail between your legs and you tell him that today he has made an enemy, you tell him that he can take any idea of negotiating with me and shove it up his fat arse, and you tell him that the next time he wants to insult my intelligence like this he can damn well do it to my face so I can inform him in person what an incompetent moron he is!" She was well aware that she was stoking more wood on the fire, but frankly she didn't care; she was tired, frustrated, and angry, and this blatant attempt at blackmailing her - in so amateurish a fashion, to the person who ran a bloody crime syndicate in her spare time - was the final straw. With a few short breaths to calm herself slightly, the ravenette stood, closing up her now-habitually worn coat.

"Will that be all, Miss Potter?" the man inquired with a tiny, fake smile that seemed more like a grimace as his attempt at composure.

"Yes, you go run along back to your master, now," she replied bitingly, "and you tell him that I am coming for him. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow - I am a busy woman, and he remains a minor annoyance - but he has successfully gained my attention, and I _will_ be coming."

##############################################################################

"Even with emergency powers, there's nothing you can do to call this farce off?" Jasmine enquired in exasperation as she and Amelia sat in her office, just over two hours before the trial was due to begin.

"You know I can't. The only powers I have would be to suspend Miss Granger's rights and give her a stint in custody until the state of war is declared over; I can't make any executive decisions not related to fighting," the grey-haired woman stated in exasperation. "Fudge holds the cards here, he's tying any attempt to stop this up in legal fictions and jumbled laws that are worded badly enough to let this continue. The only thing I could wrangle is she must have the right to defend herself and her actions before a suitable body; though of course that lead to Fudge pulling the entire bloody Wizengamot out in force in a full courtroom setting." For a moment, Jasmine briefly pondered killing the man off, but reconsidered as she thought of all the potential interim replacements and the trouble they could cause - no new Minister could be elected until after the war was over, anyway. Better the devil you know, and all that.

Jasmine was about to respond when the door was slammed open to omit a red-faced, sweaty man that heaving as he panted - with two wands swiftly pointed at him signifying the witches' reaction times.

"Graves? What's wrong?" Amelia demanded in an authoritative tone.

"Trial...now..." the man gasped between heaving breaths, "they brought it forward, ma'am."

"They've already started?" the ravenette asked incredulously, already halfway out of her chair.

"Going in now," 'Graves' answered.

Neither witch responded as they took off at a run.

##############################################################################

Fudge visibly glared at the pair of them as they entered a decidedly underfilled Wizengamot chamber - barely two thirds of those who should have been present were, and those excluded were mainly from the Light sect that Jasmine could pull allies from.

"Madame Bones, Miss Potter, so nice of you to turn up," the large man said acidly with a fake smile.

"We would have been here on time if any notification as to a change in time had been sent out; clearly we're not the only ones missing," Amelia said loudly, gesturing a hand around the hall.

"The notifications were sent out in good time to all those who should be present," the man waved off. "Anyway, we were just about to declare sentencing for the defendant as she clearly cannot be bothered to turn up, and this is an open-and-shut case."

"We were absolutely not," Amos Diggory stated loudly from his lower position, "sentencing the accused without so much of a chance for a defence to be read or charges even levied? I've never heard of something so outrageous. The change of time for this trial was on short notice, Cornelius, as is clearly evidenced by the lack of other people even present!"

"No Wizengamot member is required to be present at any meeting or event, they are merely invited to attend," the pompous man declared.

"However," shouted a new voice from the chamber floor, "a trial cannot commence without a defendant, or their legal representation if they are not representing themselves." Jasmine allowed her stance to relax a little as Edward Tonks marched in, followed by a fiercely scowling Hermione. "But then again, this is hardly a standard hearing for underaged sorcery. I've never - in all my years in law - so much as heard of an event such as this. Since when was an entire Wizengamot trial - normally suitable for serious criminals where sentences to Azkaban are on the table as a minimum – required for a simple matter of underage sorcery normally handled internally within the DMLE?"

"It was deemed necessary," Fudge brushed off the opening speech.

"Oh, I'm sure it was ' _deemed necessary_ ' as soon as the immediate attempt to expel her from Hogwarts and snap her wand without due process failed," Ted continued derisively, "but who am I - a mere expert in law - to question our government's inner workings."

"Enough! I will have you removed from this chamber for contempt!" Fudge all but growled angrily.

"Well, I'll have to skip the opening address then, and declare myself Edward Tonks, representative legal counsel for the defendant, Hermione Granger."

"Your presence is noted," Percival Weasley stated from his position on the floor of the chamber, where he was acting as scribe. "Present also; Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister Dolores Umbridge, and Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Amelia Bones, Interrogators, presiding Chief Warlock Amos Diggory, Court Scribe Percival Weasley, and assorted Wizengamot members."

"Yes, yes, thank-you Weatherby, the trial can now begin," Fudge waved off the teen, wringing yet another scowl from Amos as the man did what was not his job, "charges are thus; two counts of underage sorcery, two counts of performing magic in front of muggles and in a muggle area, both in defiance of a previous warning issued five years ago which appropriately notified the defendant of the consequences of her actions." He glared down at the bushy-haired girl, who stared back up quite defiantly. "Do you acknowledge these charges, and the fact they are in violation of Paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also Section 13 of the International Confederation of Wizards' Statute of Secrecy?"

"Acknowledge, Minister?" Ted stepped in before the Gryffindor could answer, "if you mean to ask for her plea, it is entered as Not Guilty. I'd appreciate you not trying to trap my client in confusing questions to wrangle a false confession." Ted really lived up to his reputation in the courtroom; as a muggleborn in a pureblood's world, he had to.

And some people wondered why a Black would ever marry the man.

"The accused's plea is noted," Fudge replied with a scowl. "Miss Granger, on the night of the second of August this year you, knowingly and in full awareness of the illegality of your actions, produced a locking charm and a patronus charm in the presence of two muggles, as shows the evidence from your wand's Trace. Do you deny these actions?"

"Well, no, but-," Hermione was immediately cut off by the odious man once again.

"Are you aware that you are forbidden to use magic outside of school before the age of your majority?"

"Of course, but-."

"Members of the Wizengamot," Fudge leaned back, spreading his arms wide, "there can be no doubt herein as to the guilt-."

"Minister Fudge!" the angry shout from the floor below cut the man off this time instead, as Ted's face began to redden, "you will stop interrupting my client during her statement and allow her to explain her actions! That you intend to proceed directly to sentencing without listening to the case for the defence at all is preposterous."

"I must agree, Cornelius," Amelia spoke up from her position, "the defence must be mounted before any final statements, let alone an actual vote."

"There is no need for any further questioning as her guilt is assured," the man replied in a condescending manner, "she has confessed to her actions, and that is all that is needed. There is no possible reason-."

"I did it because of the Dementors!" proclaimed the previously silently fuming Gryffindor, who was clearly not pleased at being treated in such a fashion. This statement of course prompted a murmuring from the assembled members, mainly of disbelief.

"Yes, I was expecting something like this from the clever Miss Granger," the Minister said over the top of his glasses, sneering down, "muggles can't see Dementors, can they? Highly convenient, wouldn't you say?"

"Don't you _dare_ accuse me of lying," the young lion fumed, "there were two of them, and if I hadn't-."

"I'm sorry to interrupt what is probably a very-well prepared story, if your grades are anything to go by," the man interrupted once again, taking advantage of the sonorous charm over his seat to overpower her voice. "But since the accused can present _no_ evidence or witnesses to the event-."

"Sorry to rain on your parade, Minister," Tonks shouted, just managing to interrupt the man, "but actually we can. The defence calls Jasmine Potter, Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, Order of Merlin, Second Class." At that, the murmurings started once again, louder than before as Jasmine moved from her place to walk down to the courtroom floor.

"We have no record of Miss Potter being present at the event," Fudge spluttered, paling slightly.

"That is because, while I may be under seventeen, I am a legal adult and my wand no longer carries the Trace," the ravenette answered as she descended, "which, I might add, was the _only_ method of investigation the Ministry saw fit to use, as at no time in the eight days since the event has the Granger household been entered by any Ministry personnel to gather evidence."

As the teen alighted upon the floor, she sent a slight mix of a grimace and a smile to Hermione, even as she took her place on the chained chair – which did not activate the manacles, thankfully – and crossed her legs nonchalantly, the very air of cool grace even as her anger boiled inside. Try to wrap up _her_ girl under false pretences in a clear bid to rattle Jasmine herself? As soon as the opportune time came, she was going roast fudge alive, boil him down and sell him in little brown squares in Knockturn Alley as his name suggested.

"If you would, Miss Potter," Amelia spoke up - a slight tinge of red still colouring her face over the way this 'trial' was going - before Fudge could say anything, "could you please describe your account of the night in question?" Finally, a question actually suited to a proper trial.

"On the night of the second of August, I was preparing for bed when I received communication of danger from the defendant," the ravenette began in a calm and official manner.

"What kind of communication?" Fudge cut in.

"A private and discreet method not relevant to the subject of this hearing," Jasmine bit back and quickly continued before he could press questions, "I apparated into the Granger household to find the defendant and her parents in the cellar, the former of whom was holding a patroni otter near the doorway which had visibly frozen over, and there was the recognisable feeling in the air of Dementor exposure."

"I would like it noted to the court at this stage that my client's parents are the muggles in question, in regard to violations of the Statute of Secrecy," Ted spoke up from his place off to the side, "as such, they are both fully legally entitled to knowledge of magic, and thus any magical effect, item or discussion in front of them is not in violation of the Statute of Secrecy, as per sub-section B, paragraph twelve. Therefore, any charges related to violation of said statute should be struck from the record."

"The court agrees, Mister Weasley, could you please strike those charges," Madame Bones announced down to the furiously scribbling scribe.

"The court does _not_ agree!" Fudge stated, pumping himself up pompously.

"Minister," the woman replied in an icy voice, "the law is quite clear, as Mister Tonks has pointed out; no violation of the Statute of Secrecy occurred."

"Laws can be changed!" he angrily said in response, likely without thinking.

" _Clearly_ , or else we wouldn't be holding a full Wizengamot trial for a matter of underage sorcery!" The stare off between the two lasted for several moments of intense glaring, but eventually Fudge quailed under the glower from a monocled eye. "Miss Potter, if you would please continue."

"Gladly, Madame Bones," the ravenette replied, "after very brief discussion, I summoned a nearby coil of hose and turned it into a portkey to a secure location."

"Hem-hem," for the first time, the second female interrogator spoke up in an oddly childish voice for her overweight, middle-aged frame, "portkey transportation is _strictly_ regulated by the Ministry of Magic, and only approved and certified persons are legally allowed to create portkeys."

"Yes," Jasmine stated smoothly, "however I think you'll find I gained the appropriate certification ten months ago, and I am entitled to use them for any matters I deem necessary to my business as Head of an Ancient and Noble House." She gave a small fake smile. "And the portkey itself was retroactively registered within the twenty-four-hour time limit with the Department of Magical Transportation, if you care to check."

"In what possible way is this House business?" the toad-like woman asked in that same simpering tone.

"The Newblood House of Granger is entering into negotiations to become a future cadet to the House of Potter," the ravenette replied, noting out of the corner of her eye how Hermione blinked twice, and then stared at her girlfriend, but managed to not otherwise react. Good. "I feel it would be bad business to allow members of a House I may soon be responsible for to have their souls forcibly removed, so I used a portkey to remove them from the situation."

"Hang on, if you portkeyed away, then you never saw the Dementors!" Fudge interjected triumphantly, "therefore you have no use as a witness to the event."

"On the contrary, Minister, I only sent away the defendant's parents, since they had no way of defending against Dementors, and I did see them moments later. However, if you keep interrupting me then I fear we shall never reach that part," Jasmine's sardonic rebuttal caused the man's victorious expression to be replaced once more with rage.

"Please, continue then, Miss Potter," Amelia got in before he could explode.

"Once her parents were removed from the situation, I sent an unlocking charm at the door and conjured my own patronus. As the defendant previously said, there were two Dementors, and they immediately attempted to get into the room and attack us, but were battered back by our combined patroni We pushed them back through the house and out of the open windows they had come through in the first place," the ravenette leaned back in the solid and unyielding chair. "We then secured the house and apparated to the same safe location I sent her parents to."

"This is-there's no way there were any Dementors in London!" Fudge spluttered.

"Quite!" the toad from his side added, "why, it _almost_ sounds as if you're accusing someone from the Ministry of sending Dementors to attack Miss Granger personally, which is _quite_ impossible." That girlish voice was really starting to grate on Jasmine's nerves.

"Not at all, I would never accuse the Ministry of anything but staunch professionalism," her sarcasm bit through the cold air "perhaps some were outside of Ministry control - and if so, I'm certain a full investigation shall proceed to determine how and why two highly dangerous beings were loose in the nation's capital."

"No Dementors are outside Ministry control," the fat witch immediately answered.

"Strange, I seem to remember those guarding Hogwarts swarming the Quidditch Pitch during a match in my third year there, and later that year being attacked by a swarm myself," the Ravenclaw gave a shark-like grin, "were the Dementors under full Ministry control when that happened?" Umbridge's expression soured, making her look like even more of an amphibian if anything. "And I assure you, there's no lack of witnesses to those events - most of the entire school was present to the first."

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Ted stated, bringing everything back round to relevancy before more personal points were slung, "we have heard a full witness statement from a fine and upstanding member of society - one my client would happily corroborate if so needed - a statement that quite obviously clears my client of all charges."

"The accused committed a clear violation of underage sorcery-," Fudge began.

"My client defended herself, Minister," Ted declared loudly, "which is allowed as per Clause seven of the Decree for _Reasonable_ Restriction of Underage Sorcery, which states that under extraordinary circumstances, which includes threats to the witch or wizard's life or body, that magic may be used while under the age of majority in a self-protective manner."

"But there was no threat! There were no Dementors!" Fudge angrily replied.

"Are you accusing the defendant and myself of perjury, Minister?" Jasmine stated in a level, but dangerous voice. "If so, I would note that as a most slanderous thing to say; accusing the Head of an Ancient and Noble House of dishonesty?" She stood, staring the suddenly paling man down from his elevated position. He didn't say anything in reply. "I thought not. Surely this is all the debate that is needed? Not that any was required in the first place for a farce of a trial like this," she scoffed, "Sirius Black was accused of multiple murders and was treated better than this." Albeit, that was a Veritaserum testimonial sprung upon an unsuspecting Wizengamot rather than this kind of trial where such expensive potions were not justified. Not to mention he was a pureblood head of an ancient and noble house, which also altered things.

"Miss Potter has a point," Amos declared from his mainly silent position from which he was unable to do much, "I do not believe there is any further value in discourse - we have heard two corroborating witness statements; whether they are enough is up to popular vote. All those in favour of conviction, please light your wands."

A scowling pair of Fudge and Umbridge raised their wands, along with a smattering of their supporters and some of the hardcore dark sect - which in the deliberately underfilled room with few of Jasmine's allies, actually accounted for a fair few.

But thankfully, not enough.

"And those for clearing the accused of all charges," Diggory said with a slight smile, raising her own wand along with the majority of the audience - including the ravenette on the courtroom floor. "The defendant is hereby cleared of all charges."

##############################################################################

"That was totally ridiculous," Hermione said derisively as the pair stood upstairs in Grimmauld place, having left the adults chatting below about the verdict, "is that really the kind of Court System the Magical world has?"

"Twisted and corrupted further than even normal, but yes," the ravenette admitted, "normally, Fudge shouldn't have been able to push things around anywhere near as much as he did - he ignored a hell of a lot of procedure just by making himself interrogator, and overstepping that authority as well, which he is certainly not qualified for, as you saw."

"All he cared about was railroading me into a conviction, regardless of what was actually right or even evidenced true!"

"If it's any comfort, that court transcript will never hold up against any professionals - I've got a secret copy of it made right before the dunce sealed the records," Jasmine said in a soothing tone, "when the time comes for Fudge to be ousted - and he's already on the way there, trust me, more than a few Wizengamot members there today approached me afterwards about their problems with the trial and disillusionment with the current state of affairs."

"Why don't you do it now? He's clearly perverting the course of justice," the bushy-haired girl protested.

"If Fudge were forced out tomorrow, his office of officials will take over command amongst themselves in the interim until an election can occur, and we can't have an election while a state of war is declared, even if it doesn't feel like a war yet and they're constantly trying to overturn it," the other teen explained, "and any of his administrators will have the same views or may be even worse - look at that Umbridge woman, she's one of his senior advisors. We'd either end up with a half-democratic arguing mess from the top floor, or else someone authoritative like her seizing command."

"So better the Devil you know?"

"Until he really screws things up, yes."

"Damn," the brunette leant back against the dark green wall, mulling the facts of their unfair legal systems over in her mind, "also, don't think I've forgotten that you did commit perjury, despite your protestation of innocence."

"Oh, how so?" the teen replied innocently with a raised eyebrow.

"Entering in negotiations?" her girlfriend said flatly, arms crossing over.

"Well, maybe slightly pre-emptive as I hadn't brought my plans up with you yet, but I already have some paperwork written up, it's just waiting for actual negotiation over it."

"And why would I be signing control of my family over to yours?" it was difficult to read Hermione's face; confusion mixed with… hurt, perhaps?

"Nothing so onerous, I assure you," the ravenette replied with a reassuring smile, "the kind of deal can vary depending on situation, and this one leans more along the idea of assuming public responsibility for you, which, yes, does include political ownership if you were suddenly to ascend to the Wizengamot by some miracle event, but mainly just runs along the idea of protection from a variety of things."

"What do you mean?" she inquired with that same inscrutable expression.

"Well, for one thing in situations like earlier today where I got Ted to stand as your defence, but also in other public things. If anyone wanted to take issue with you, they'd have to go through me first, and any attack on you would be considered an attack on the House of Potter, and I could quite legitimately demand compensation or call a blood feud over certain things," Jasmine explained, "for one thing, it'll make a lot of the bigots back in school think twice before lashing out again, and the same goes for muckrakers in the Daily Prophet."

"But they've been calling you out all summer anyway."

"Not exactly; they've been forced to be subtle and allude to things, not outright state them – they've been putting a lot of the blame for things on Dumbledore rather than myself, since he's not rich or the Head of an Ancient and Noble House, and is even more unpopular than me with the Ministry right now."

"What, just like that, political and… financial status means everything?" The Gryffindor's frown grew even more pronounced.

"Welcome to the Wizarding world, love," she drew closer to the subdued young woman, "in all its bare, bigoted truth."

##############################################################################

"Madame Bones, I'm afraid I have some bad news for you," the ravenette started as she settled into the other chair in her office for what felt like the thousandth time that summer.

"Oh?" the grey-haired woman in question looked up from the sheaf of reports in hand, "the fact you're even bothering to cushion the blow is not a good indicator."

"Yes. I'm guessing you had planned to spend this Friday with your niece?" The elder witch immediately frowned and sat up straight at the idea of anything involving her kin.

"Yes; I specifically avoided getting any appointments on that day, it's the last chance I'll have before she leaves for Hogwarts the next day," she replied slowly.

"Well, unfortunately, I'm not the only one capable of noticing you refusing to meet during that spot in your calendar and deducing what it means," Jasmine leaned forward, playing up a grim expression, "Voldemort intends to personally finish the job he started when he wiped out half of the Bones family."

"Bloody hell," Bones exclaimed, throwing down the papers and rubbing at the bridge of her nose, "how did you even discover this?"

"Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies." A withering glare was her only response. "Incidentally, and on an entirely unrelated topic, you'd be surprised how many of Voldemort's followers seem to be growing a little disillusioned with certain outlooks on life."

"You have a mole in their ranks," it wasn't stated as a question, but admittedly with a hint of incredulity with widened eyes. After all, she probably knew exactly how hard - and unsuccessfully - the department tried to place a high-ranked spy the last time around.

"Madame Bones, I think you'll understand that I cannot say anything of use to you on that topic." At that, she nodded knowingly; any competent spy would demand oaths of secrecy or the like to protect themselves. It wasn't like she could guess that Malfoy wouldn't have her under those, due to her position as a criminal, and she was just covering her own arse by not saying any more. "The real question to be asked is how we're going to deal with this."

"Oh, bloody buggering hell," the woman growled out as realisation hit her, prompting some rare vulgarity from the normally composed lady.

"If we make any sudden moves, he knows he has a spy in his ranks, ferrets them out, kills them, and we lose access to all future information," the ravenette stated calmly. "If I may make a suggestion. Behave as normal and as if nothing has changed. On Friday around, say, lunchtime send out some messages to a few of your top aurors, maybe a hit wizard or two, apologising for the short notice, but their previous invitations to that night's event had got lost and were never sent out. Invite them to a dinner and celebration of the official signing and implementation of the James and Lily Potter foundations – as I proposed to you earlier this Summer. That will give us a good excuse for my own presence, and several aurors capable of holding their own, and should be late enough that the information won't have a chance to filter back to him in time."

"What about Susan?"

"You could discreetly send her to the Abbots, if you would prefer - no bodyguards, though, that would kill any idea of secrecy," the ravenette proposed, "however, I would recommend having her attend. It will seem far less suspiciously convenient afterwards in an event that will already be scrutinised, as few would believe that you would put your niece – of whom you are well-known to be protective of –anywhere near danger."

"That's because I wouldn't!" the stern face of Amelia Bones was alight, "and that most definitely includes placing her directly in the path of a Dark Lord intent on killing her!"

"Don't worry about the Dark Lord, _I_ can deal with him," Jasmine replied firmly, "just make sure we have enough men to deal with maybe half-a-dozen Death Eaters. Oh, and a photographer, of course."

"Your confidence is inspiring," the elder woman replied drily, "but you cannot honestly expect-."

"Amelia," the teen interjected with a raised hand, "I have a secret weapon that I know will force him to remain occupied with me one-on-one. Not to mention, I've faced him before and come out on top, that's how I got this, remember?" She waved her hand with its recently acquired jewellery about. "And _this_ time, I won't be exhausted half to death or caught by surprise."

##############################################################################

Jasmine was in the middle of a deep conversation about the merits of explosive curses versus bone breakers with Gawain Robards - a grizzled Welsh auror who cleaned up surprisingly well in his smart dress robes - when all conversation ceased suddenly as each person present felt a shiver of magic.

"Those were anti-transport wards," her conversation partner declared, met with multiple hums of agreement from the others seated at the dining table as polite dinner conversationalists immediately turned into experienced veterans looking to the multiple exits to the room and palming suddenly drawn wands.

"Standard apparition and portkey," a woman Jasmine recalled was named Flint, "Jones, any luck?"

"Nope, Floor's out too," replied the blonde by the fireplace.

"Voldemort," Amelia hissed in a well-acted manner as she stood by the curtains that she had subtly drawn back slightly to witness flashes out in the dark night as the wards were brought down, "Robards, take Susan and head to the cellar. Floppy will show you the way." The house-elf that had been serving them eagerly nodded at the authoritative commands, abandoning his little platter of condiments.

"But ma'am," the Welshman protested.

"Now, Gawain!" she barked in reply, twisting her head from where it had been looking out of the window. In the time she turned away, though, she missed the bolt of light heading their way that the young seeker's keen eyes had not.

"Tortelotum!" Jasmine exclaimed, a shimmering blue shield springing to life just beyond their host. The spell was just in time to prevent the purple explosion that would have caused some significant damage to them, however it did not protect the building as the centuries-old structure was ripped apart by the blast. The ravenette had to wince as her tessellated shield was battered, but still held.

"Well, at least one person here has her eye on the ball," Amelia stated as if she had not just stood mere inches from a huge explosion. "Gawain, go. The rest of you, defensive positions and prepare for assault."

"Yes, ma'am," the man relented, moving to leave before he noticed the other young witch present who was dropping her shield, "Miss Potter?"

"Oh, hell no, I'm not sitting this out," the ravenette replied while kicking off the pale heels that had clad her feet. As soon as she was a bit more manoeuvrable she dashed past the gathered soldiers to leap over what stubby remains there were of the wall, and onto the grass beyond, an orange blasting curse of her own whipped from her wand as she went. From across the well-kept lawn, the spell was easily batted away by a pale, scowling figure with his bare hand. "Good evening Tom," she yelled across the space, making sure to keep a calm mask in place. Her hand gripped her wand so tightly that her skin was bare-knuckled white, mentally daring the appendage to give so much as a twitch at this important moment. "So nice of you to join us; we were just talking about you, as it happens."

"Avada Kedavra," her goading words had the exact effect she had intended, and the ravenette let loose a malevolent smile as she met the green unforgivable with a tombstone-grey bone breaker.

Phoenix song filled the air.

##############################################################################

Jasmine couldn't help but find herself in a good mood, despite the prospect of spending the next few hours until sunset confined to a train cabin as she headed back to a school of bratty children who would doubtless be irritating. The copy of the Gazette clasped in her hands was just such a wonderful sight; 'POTTER DUELS DARK LORD' read the title, and the article went on to praise her for continuing her parents' legacy - who of course gained renown for standing up to the man on three separate occasions - a feat few ever managed. However, it was the photo that really did it for her.

The great golden beam of light clashed between the wands of a bald, pale, and serpentine figure dressed in black, anger suffusing his visage, and a shorter one with long dark hair that fluttered into the wind juxtaposing against her white dress - which she had chosen in hope of a shot like this - her face just visible as it took a determined cast, the photo shot from behind and just enough to the side. Spells were exchanged by masked Death Eaters in the background battling unseen enemies, but the two titans in the foreground were the main focus in their relentless battle for dominance.

It really couldn't have gone better.

Well, the Death Eaters and Voldemort himself all escaped with only some injuries taken by his lackeys - the Dark Lord had decided to cut his losses once he realised he was caught in a personal stalemate with her, while his companions were outgunned by the professionals present - and there had likewise been some injuries on their side, not to mention the property damage to the manor. It was all worth it, though, for that one photo. This paper would be distributed across Britain, and the people would see - not only proof of Voldemort's return, but also that they had a saviour ready to step up to the fore; enter Jasmine Potter, stage left.

"There you are," a dark brunette pulled open the outer door and stepped into the cabin.

"Good morning, Nadia, how have you been of late?" the ravenette replied nonchalantly.

"Not as well as you've been," the other teen replied, gesturing pointedly at the paper in Jasmine's hand, "everybody's talking about you up and down the platform."

"When are they not?"

"Well, for once I'd say it's pretty justified; it's not every day you fight a Dark Lord, after all," the Gryffindor sat down on the opposite bench with a wide grin.

"Oh, you'd be surprised how often it seems to happen to me," Jasmine responded with a smile of her own. Yes, it felt good to be on top of things once again.

She should have known it wouldn't last.

##############################################################################

How could she not have seen this coming?

That was the thought constantly running through her head. She'd pushed him onto the back foot, of _course_ he was going to lash out to prove he was still to be feared, especially after the previous night, and of _course_ he was going to try to swell his ranks, since she had thinned them, and she should have seen all this bloody coming!

"Gods damn it!" she growled, throwing down the paper as she angrily stormed from the hall, her hand darting to move her scarf into position for heading outside. She needed to get to the Ministry.

'ASSAULT ON AZKABAN' the abandoned periodical announced.

 **A/N: Well, that took a while (though about 75% was written in the last two weeks) but I think it might be the largest chapter so far, so there's that. I might actually be getting back into the swing of things. Also, I'd forgotten quite how ridiculous a 'trial' Harry received in canon (I haven't actually read the books in a long time, so I flipped through the set I got for Christmas for this chapter).**

 **Now, before signing off, I'd like to say something to those reading this (I really can't believe how many of you there are these days). I appreciate reviews a lot, really, I do – they can be massively uplifting, and are basically the only reason this ever went beyond the four or five original chapters – and I read each and every one, and often respond to both those and PM's with any questions.**

 **However, I must reiterate one thing from my profile, and make a plea for another: firstly, if you ask a question in a guest review,** _ **I cannot respond to it**_ **– the site literally will not let me, that's the entire point of anonymous reviews – and I'd like to break my habit of extra-long A/N's to answer them here (no, the irony of what I'm writing right now is not lost on me), so please log in if you want a response to something; secondly, it's very nice to receive praise and such, but a quote I'm fond of is: 'The cruellest thing you can do to an artist is tell them their work is perfect when it isn't,' and it's something of a double-edged sword since I know it most definitely applies to myself. This story is not perfect, not by an absolutely huge long shot, as I've said to multiple reviewers. I first started writing this more than two years ago (god it's been a long time…), and that means not only have I changed as I write, but things have gotten lost or forgotten along the way, and the plot has changed with that. This story has plot holes – both large and small – unfired Chekhov's guns, pacing issues and probably a whole host of other things. Argh, I've been checking this draft for two hours and it's getting late and I'm waffling. My point is, praise is lovely, but it doesn't help me grow or improve as a writer. Or, well, it can if specifics are brought in, but my main concentration is a wish to correct my flaws. So please, give me some criticism! Point out my flaws and mistakes, bring up errors large and small or else I'll never notice, and never improve and they'll never go away.**

 **Anyway, overlong A/N over. I'll see what I can do about getting another chapter out soon(ish). Now I need to** _ **sleep**_ **.**


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